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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The 
to  th 


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n 


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The 
poss 
of  th 
filmi 


Origi 
begii 
the  I 
sion, 
othe 
first 
sion, 
or  ill 


The 
shall 
TINL 
whic 

Map 
diffe 
entir 
begii 
right 
requ 
meth 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqud  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


26X 


30X 


V 

12X 


im 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


lire 

details 
jes  du 

modifier 
ger  une 

filmage 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Ralph  Pickard  Bell  Library 
Mount  Allison  University 

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Ralph  Pickard  Bell  Library 
Mount  Allison  University 

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des 


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empreinte. 


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shall  contain  the  symbol  ^^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED "),  or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


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dernidro  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


re 


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different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
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method: 


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Lorsque  ie  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reprcduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
Je  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gaucha  &  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  !e  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m6thode. 


y  errata 
id  to 

nt 

ne  pelure, 

i9on  d 


i: 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

i      4    ^ 

i 

6 

32X 


SELECT     LIBRARY      No.  214 

GUY  EARLSCOURTS 

WIFE 


v«a:itfj^ 


»*«^-" 


/'  1. 


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M  ()  r  \  r      A  I,  I,  I  >  ()  \ 

U  N  F  \'  I.  H  s  I    r  V 
HaLIMI     PiCKAHI)    WllA.    LlliHAKY 


'i  O  ^J 


BOOKS  OF  QUALITY 


17 


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SELECT    LIBRARY 

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Fifteen  Cents 


This  line  is  truly  named.  It  is  Select  because  each  title  in  it 
has  been  selected  with  great  care  from  among  hundreds  of  books 
by  well-known  authors. 

A  glance  over  the  following  list  will  show  the  names  of  Mary 
J.  Holmes,  Marie  Corelli,  Rider  Haggard,  "The  Duchess,"  R.  D. 
Blackmore,  and  translations  of  some  of  the  more  famous  French 
authors  like  Victor  Hugo,  and  Alphonse  Daudet. 

H  you  are  looking  for  books  which  will  add  to  your  knowledge 
of  literature,  a  complete  set  of  the  Select  Library  which  is  so 
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ALL  TtTLBS  ALWAYS  IN  PRINT 

I — Cousin  Maude   By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

2 — Rosamond   Leyton    By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

6 — Beulah    By  Augusta  J.   Evans 

10 — The  Homestead  on  the   Hillside By  Mary  J.   Holmes 

14 — East   Lynne    By   Mrs.   Henry  Wood 

i6 — A  Romance  of  Two  Worlds By  Marie  Corelli 

17 — Cleopatra    By   H.    Rider   Haggard 

i8 — Maggie  Miller   By  Mary  J.   Holmes 

27— Under  Two  Flags By  "Ouida" 

28 — Dora   Deane    By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

2g— Ardath.    Vol.  I By  Marie  Corelli 

30— Ardath.    Vol.  H By  Marie  Corelli 

31 — The  Light  That  Failed By  Rudyard  Kipling 

32 — Tempest  and  Sunshine  By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

35 — ^Inez By  Augusta  J.  Evans 


SELECT  LIBRARY 


36--Phyllis    : By  "The   Duches*" 

42— Vendetta By  Marie  Corelli 

43 — Sapho By  Alphonse  Daudet 

44 — Lena  Rivers   By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

48 — Meadowbrook    By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

50 — VVon  by  Waiting By  Edna  Lyall 

51 — Camille By  Alexandre  Dumas 

53 — Uncle  Tom's  Cabin By  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe 

54 — The  English  Orphans  By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

57— Ethel}^^  Mistake By  Mary  J.  Holmes 

58 — Treasure  Island By  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

59— Mildred  Trevanion  By  "The  Duchess" 

60— Dead  Man's  Rock By  "Q."  (A.  T.  Quiller-Couch) 

61 — The  Iron  Pirate ." By  Max  Pemberton 

62— Molly   Bawn    By  "The  Duchess" 

63 — Lorna  Doone By  R.  D.  Blackmore 

66 — Airy    Fairy   Lilian    By  "The  Duchess" 

67— The  Cruise  of  the  "Cachalot" By  Frank  T.  Bullen 

69 — The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii By  Sir  Bulwer  Lytton 

71— The  Duchess  By  "The  Duchess" 

72— Plain  Tales  From  the  Hills By  Rudyard  Kipling 

75— She    By   H.    Rider   Haggard 

76 — Beatrice By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

T] — Eric    Brighteyes By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

78 — Beyond  the  City By  A.  Conan  Doyle 

79 — Rossmoyne  By  "The  Duchess" 

80 — King  Solomon's  Mines By  H,   Rider  Haggard 

81— She's  All  the  World  to  Me By  Hall  Caine 

83 — Kidnaped By  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

84 — Undercurrents   By  "The   Duchess" 

87 — The  House  on  the  Marsh By  Florence  Warden 

88— The  Witch's  Head By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

89— A  Perilous  Secret By  Charles  Reade 

93— Beauty's   Daughters By  "The  Duchess" 

100 — Led  Astray By  Octave  Feuillet 

102 — Marvel By  "The  Duchess" 

107 — The  Visits  of  Elizabeth By  Elinor  Glyn 

108 — Allan  Quatermain By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

I IQ— Soldiers  Three By  Rudyard  Kipling 

1 13 — A  Living  Lie By  Paul  Bourget 

114— Portia    By  "The  Duchess" 

117 — ^John  Halifax,  Gentleman By  Miss  Mulock 

118— The  Tragedy  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix By  Adolphe  Belot 

119— A  Princess  of  Thule By  William  Black 

122— Dori^    By  "The  Duchess" 

123 — Carmen  and  Colomba By  Prosper  Merimee 

125 — The  Master  of  Ballantrae By  Robert  Louis^  Stevenson 

126 — The  Toilers  of  the  Sea By  Victor  Hugo 

127— Mrs.  Geoffrey  By  ^*The  Duchess" 

128— Jack's  Courtship. By  W.  Clark  Rus«:eU 


Guy  Earlscourt's  Wife 


UK. 


Wedded  Yet  No  Wife 


BY 

MAY  AGNEvS   FLEMING 

.       ■  AUTHOR   OF 

*'A  Wonderful  Woman,"  ''Silent  and  True,"  "Norine's  Revenge," 
"Carried  by  Storm,"  and  many  other  ideal  romances 

of  American  life.  i 


line 


;ss 


««" 


;. 


STREET  &"'SMITI1  CORPORATION 


riTRLTSTlEHS 


79-89  Seventh  Avenue,  New  York 


r 


Copyright,  1872 
By  G.  W.  (Jarleton  &  Co. 

ropyright.  lUOO 
liy  Maude  A.  Fleming 

Guy  Earlaoourt's  Wile 


J 


i 


(Printed  in  the  United  Stat«»  of  AmerlcaJl 


\ 


i 


GUY  EARLSCOURT'S  WIFE. 


PART    FIRST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

DUKE    mason's    adventure. 

Duke  Mason  had  lost  lii>.  way. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it.  As  he  paused  in  per- 
plexity and  gazed  around  him,  five  struck  sharply  from  the 
distant  Speckhaven  churches,  clearly  heard  through  the  still, 
frosty  air,  and  at  five-ten  th  •  express  train  from  London  left 
Speckhaven  station.  Only  ten  minutes  to  spare,  and  com- 
pletely lost  and  bewildered,  a  stranger  in  Lincolnshire,  and 
with  not  a  notion  of  whereabouts  he  might  be  now, 

Mr.  Mason  paused  with  a  face  of  disgust  at  his  own  stu- 
pidity and  looked  about  him.  Westward  lav  the  fens  and 
marshes,  melting  drearily  away  into  the  low,  gray  sky;  east- 
ward spread  the  wide  sea,  a  bleak  bla-^t  sweeping  icily  up, 
with  all  the  chill  of  the  Tierman  Ocean  in  its  breath;  and 
north  and  south,  the  di>mal  wa^^tc  land  stretched  away  tree- 
less, houseless,  unspeaka1)ly  forlorn  and  deserted. 

The  month  was  March,  the  day  the  twcntv-fiftli.  Was 
Duke  Mason  likely  to  forget  the  date  of  that  inetnorahle  day, 
when  he  lost  his  way.  and  the  romance  of  his  life  began? 

For  seven  and  twenty  years  his  life  had  gone  on,  as  flat, 
as  dull,  as  uneventful  as  those  flat  marshes  that  lay  on  every 
side  of  him,  as  "fray  and  colorless  as  yonder  cold  gray  sea, 
and  on  this  twenty-fifth  of  March,  wending  his  way  at  his 
leisure,  to  catch  the  express  train  for  London,  and  mistaking 
the  road,  an  adventure  so  singular  and  romantic  befell  him 
as  to  almost  atone  for  those  hopelessly  stupid  and  respectable 
seven-and-twenty  years. 

The  short  March  day  was  darkening  alrcadv.  The  vellow 
wintry  sun  had  dropped  out,  of  sight  down  there  behind  the 
fens  and  sand  hills;  sky  and  .sea  were  both  of  the  same  cold 


Duke  Mason's  Adventure, 


Uruy,,  t'X('<'|.t    wlu'it    niic   loni;,  y.  How  line  wi'stwar*!    markfJ 
the  Hoiiihrc  Hinisrl. 

"If  rciniiitls  out!  of  Ryron's  pwrtry,"  thought  Mr  Mim»n, 
who,  lic'in;^  ati  lulisl  in  a  vi  ly  siimll  way,  liad  aii  »>•».'  tor 
*utiiios|)lH'ii<!  i'lTccts;  *'!«'a(l-(.'oli»n*(l  b<'u,  niclliiig  into  Iruil- 
L*olori'<i  sky  -dull  yellow  ^Hiimicr  w<'.stwanl.  l'"l;it  iiiiii>iM'9 
and  wet  U'Us,  .-.ra  i'<)<r  crcrpiiij^  u\),  and  a  soiiiar.T  iiidi\  idiial  ia 
for<'i;roiiiid,  «:a/.inf,'  inootlily  ut  llu.' «;ii'i*iiin^:  ^lo'un.  I'.i'scca 
t^'orse  tliiiiMS  on  the  lino,  in  the  acmlcniy,  and  hundriMls  of 
pcopk;  a^apo  with  admiration,  only,  uniiappily,  this  sort  of 
tliin;4  IS  inucli  irion'  att ractivi'  in  oil  or  water  cokjrs  tl.m  iu 
reality,  ut  five  oVIoek  of  a  eoid  March  evenin^^  without  a 
house  or  a  soul  near,  .ind  jusl  too  lat(?  for  iUv.  train.  I  won- 
der where  1  am.  I'll  try  on  a  little  way,  and  tind  <»ut,  it  I 
can,  without  gcinj^  rouijd  to  the  town." 

Mi.  Alason  t?ave  up  eontemplatiriK  tho  general  liynaila 
asp'r*"  of  file  seme,  and  Wi'ut  forward  on  his  lonely  roa<l. 

Ue  was  muuntin^  tlio  rising  ^riound  now,  and  in  ten  min- 
utes more  stopped  ai;;ain  and  knew  exactly  where  he  was. 

''The  (jran^e,  by  all  that's  njysterious!"  lie  exdaiii.*  vl, 
aloud,  '^nd  tive  miles  from  the  station  if  un  inch  What 
un  ass  I  must  have  heen.  to  he  sure,  to  take  the  wron>:  ^urn- 
in^t,  when  I've  been  alonj^  here  fifty  times  durinj?  the  last 
f<-rVniirht." 

It  looked  like  th<-  end  of  the  Nvorld.  A  hi^h  stone  wall  "'^se 
up  abruptly,  barring  all  furtht  r  projjjress-  two  massive  stone 
urates  frowned  darkly  on  all  observers.  Within  ro^e  the 
waving  tre«'s  of  a  paik,  and  in  their  midst  you  cau;ihl  sijjht 
of  all  chinine.vs  and  the  p<'aked  gables  of  a  red-lirick 
mansion. 

Duke  Maaoii  had  come  u))on  the  Granjj:e  in  the  -peetral 
twilight  of  the  Mareh  day,  and  the  Grange  w;:.-  that  most 
awful   habitation,  "a   jaunted  house." 

ft  was  a  weird  scene  and  hour.     He  was,  perhaps,  as  mat- 
ter-of  fact  and  uniinafrinativo  a  younjcj  man  as  vou  will  easily 
find,  but  iMiko's  skin  tnrned  ti>  "rooso  flesh''  a.''  he  <tood  and 
thoufj'ir  of  the  awfn]  stories  he  had  heard  of  vondei  -iolitriry,, 
mansion  amone  the  tri'cs. 

It  was  so  drathfully  still  — it  was  like  the  enchanted  easrle 
ot  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  only  fat  more  irrim,  else  the  hand- 
«omt  youuii  prince  had  never  summoned  up  courage-  'o  r-nter; 
it  was  like  a  huge  mausoleum,  no  smoke  enred  uf»  froi-i  tLe 
ureat  ♦■^'  --^cd  cliiiinicys.  no  dog  barked  ')<"  ■*ound  !)nt  *he 
moarnny  or  the  wind  amonpr  the  trees  h'-okc  tlie  ghastiy 
silence. 

"And  yet  people  eat,  and  d^ink,  and  sleep  there,"  mused 
Mr.  MaAou;  ''and  it's  zuoib  dismal  and  more  <lead  than  thff 


Juke  Mas*^  ^  s  Adventure. 


-toinl)  of  tlio  IMuuaolis.  Aii«,  tlwy  sny  ♦licri''-*  a  Indy  shut  up 
there  af»  '  "cly  us  all  the  houris  of  Mahomel'.-*  |Kir;i(li*«'.  II  u 
fcll'iw  c.  jiily  m'i  ill  tlu'ic  now  aii'l  see  for  liitii'^clf." 

'I'lic  |)hi('c  was  kiiDwii  an  I.yii.Hth  (I'mh^c,  iwA  likr  sweet 
Ihou...-  iluiurd ''Jliiuntfd  llounc,"  lay 

*  UiuWt  sonip  prodigious  ban  of  cxcomrnunliatluii  " 

'J'wo  hundred  odd  year.s  ago  there  dwelt  in  yondjT  sih'iit" 
inaiisiun  a  tiereo  old  warrior,  who  had  hrouKut  home  Id  fa" 
Griingc  a  j>ale,  ijenslve  younj,  hride,  asi  fair  as  a  liiy  anil 
aintost  U8  drooping.  Inside  those  walls  (Ik;  htincymoon  had 
heen  spent,  and  then  vSir  Alali«>e  went  forth  to  fij;ht  for  hi;* 
kinu,  and  the  pale  brido  wa;.  left  ahuie.  And  then  tl::'  le- 
g.'iid  ran  of  a  fair-haired,  liand.soi.ie  eavalier,  who  made 
his  way  throUKh  the  ponderous  doors,  of  a  servant's  hefrayal, 
of  a  fiery  husband  returning  full  of  jealoua  wrath,  of  a  duel 
to  the  death  in  one  of  those  oaken  ri>oni.-',  an<^l  of  the  h:md- 
some  cavalier  falling  with  a  awcjrd  thru-4  throuMh  the  heart 
at  the  frantic  lady's  feet — of  a  mad  woman  shut  up  to  slu-iek 
her  miserable  life  away  in  those  same  ilisnml  rooms, ^nd  of  a 
stern  old  general  who  fell  at  the  head  of  his  uwii.  And  the 
fair-haired  eavalier,  and  the  lady  with  tlie  wild,  streaming 
hair  and  woeful  faee,  haunted  (said  the  legend)  Lyndith 
Grange  to  the  preseat  day.  No  one  lived  in  the  place  Imig, 
for  certain,  whether  it  was  the  ghosts,  or  the  damp,  or  the 
loneliness  that  drove  them  away,  and  things  gradually  fel'  to 
decay,  and  the  Lyndith  family  left  the  Grange  to  the  rati- 
and  the  sr)ectres  and  its  own  bad  uame,  for  many  and  many 
a  long  year. 

Hut  two  years  befort  thi'  ^special  evening  upon  which 
Air.  Mason  stands  and  scrutinizes  it,  the  neighborhood  town 
of  Speekhaven  was  thrown  iiit.<  commotion  by  the  news  that 
the  Grange  was  occupied  at  last. 

I'urniture  had  come  down  from  Ix)ndon — two  servants — a 
hard-featured  old  woman  and  a  stolid  boy,  had  purchased 
thing>  iii  the  town  and  brougiit  then)  to  the  Grange  And 
ill  the  silvery  dusk  of  a  May  evening  a  tall  gentleman — 
dark  and  grim — had  been  dr. yen  wnr  a  slender  lady,  closely 
veiled,  to  the  hauntect  tiou.-.e  from  rht   Speckhaven^  station. 

After  that,  for  thn^  oi  tt-ui  weeks,  no  m')re  was  known  of 
thoee  mysterious  peopie  oi  iheii  d«)ings.  The.>  were  still  at 
the  Grange,  but  no  one  visited  them;  ihcir  very  names  were 
unknown,  the  great  gate.-  vert  ilway?  ioek':d  •inr'  bolted, 
anr  the  hard-featuroc!  old  vomar-  ;:t;.'.  tnlid  hoy  kept  their 
master's  secrets  weli  mc  roicne.  inie!-v 

One  stormy  Junt  mght.  aj-  Dr.  Worth  sat  in  hiB  rmrlor.  n 
the  bosom  oi   .:^'i    tamilj     slipperwi  ilA  dreetui^-«>v>Vi'Med 


Ur.k^  Ma.ons  A'ventiire. 


tiiiiiiking 


f^ods    tlint    tlx    Wf'ik   (if    lliiit    (]u.y   was   cinlofl, 


tficic  cMifiG  suf'h  }i   tliuiidfriiii'  knock  jit   tL(-   front  door,  and 


lip.'ctl.v  alter  su<ii  a  \)* 


al  at  {]tv  oHicc  Ix-l!,  as  nnulc  ^'i:  chief 


p}iVflic:an  ot"  Sjx  ckiiav«jn  spring  to  l)I.s  I'cet  and  grii;:  sonio- 
ibiii^  su'  picioiisly  like  an  oalh  bet'.\<'en  liis  Iccth. 

''it's  a  lady  took  sudden  and"  uncommon  bad,"  hi?'  so;*vant 
annonncfd,  "whiclj  the  f^enfleman  say.s  his  carriage  i.-^  at  the 
door,  and  you're  to  come  immediate,  if  you  please,  sir.'' 

I)r  Worth  groaned;  the  rain  was  pouring,  the  night  was 
dark  as  the  regions  of  IMuto,  and  his  ten  o'clock  ula^s  of 
;;iMich  stood  liiere  untasted,  and  his  hed  all  ready.  In  Hve 
niinulcs,,  c'(»ated  and  hatted,  he  joined  the  gentleman  wait- 
ing in  the  passage.     IJe  had  declined  to  enter. 

"Who's  the  lady,  sir^''  brus(iuely  demanded  Dr.  Worth. 
"No  i)ationt  of  mine,  I  know.     And  what's  the  matte';  ^" 

"i"(jr  Heaven's  sake,  d(..rt  stop  to  talk  now!"  exclaimed 
tlic  gentleman.     "We've   five    miles    to  go,   and   the   road   is 


beast' 


J'll   tell  .you  as  we  drive  along." 


'!');"  <ioctor  Ini'^tened  after  him  to  the  carriage — a  handsome 
landau  and  ])air — and  th(^  driver  whirled  them  off  dirtx'tly. 
Only  (jnee  during  tliat  n'ght  drive,  through  the  pouring  rain 
and  iidiy  darkness,  did  the  stranger  open  his  lips. 

"We  are  go'ng  to  Lyndith  (jlrange;  and  the  case  is  what 
von.^ni<>dical  men  call  an  interesting  one,  I  believe.  1  have 
only  one  reciuest  to  make;  thiit  is,  that  .vou  will  talk  of  this 
liiaiter  as  little  as  possible.  1  will  double,  treble,  quadruple 
your  fee."     And  then  silenc;?  fell. 

They  reached  the  Grange-  -the  ponderous  gates  flew  open 
-ihey  whirled  up  a  long  avenue  and  stopped.  A  minute 
later  and  the  doctor,  at  the  heels  of  his  leader,  wfts  travers- 
ing draughty  corridors  and  endless  suites  of  dreary  rooms. 
At  the  door  of  an  apartment,  in  a  long,  chill  hall,  the  mys- 
terious gentleman  halted. 

"Your  patient  Is  here,  doctor,"  he-  said,  impressively. 
"Use  all  your  skill  to-night,  llemember,  the  lady  must  be 
saved !" 

And  then  he  lield  the  door  open  for  the  doctor  to  enter, 
closing  it  inmicdiately,  and  Dr.  Worth  found  himself  in  a 
vast  room,  all  oak  flooring,  oak  paneling,  massive  old  fur- 
nivure,  and  a  huge,  curtained  bed  in  the  center  of  the  room, 
big  enough  and  gloomy  enough  for  a  sarcopha-.U:;,  A  wood 
fire  burned  in  one  of  the  tiled  fireplaces — a  couple  of  wax 
eandles  made  specks  of  light  ih  the  darkness,  and  the  hard- 
featured  old  womail  sat  in  a  chair,  sewinii  on  little  garments 
by  tlie  wan  light.  - 

At  half-past  ten  Dr.  Worth  entered  that  room.  At  half- 
i)ast  tw»  h^  left  it*    The  old  woman  held  a  femr.'     infant 


re. 

(Ir..y  wfis  ondod, 
Iroiit  (l(.(>r,  and 

5  made  ^'»',  chief 

iiid  f,'rn;:    soiiio- 

U(th. 

•m],"  hi.s  sei-vjint 

n-i-ijige  is  at  the 

)leiise,  sir.'' 

.  tJie  night  was 

o'clock  u]ii>s  of 
ready.     In  Hve 

lentleman    wait- 

r. 

ed    Dr.    Worth, 
e  matter  i" 
>\v!"  exclaimed 
nd   the   road  is 

;'e — a  handsome 
'm  off  dinH'tl.v. 
le  pouring  rain 
lips. 

le  case  is  what 

elieve.     1  have 

11  talk  of  this 

jle,  quadruple 


Duke  Mason's  Adventure. 


9 


ites  flew  oi)en 
A  minute 
vvfts  travers- 
Ireary  rooms, 
lall,  the  mys- 


imprcssively. 
lady  must  be 

ctor  to  enter, 
hirnseif  in  a 
sive  old  fur- 
of  the  room, 
uj,  A  wood 
^uple  of  wax 
nd  the  hard- 
tie  ;;«!rment8 


m.     At  half- 
nir.'     infant 


this  time,  in  her  arms,  and  during  all  tho  ^  hours  the  Speck- 
haven  doctor  luid  never  once  seen  the  lace  of  his  patii'nt. 
'Die  heavy  silken  curtaiihs  shaded  her  in  deepest  gloom,  and 
lier  face  had  been  j)(isir5tently  turned  from  liim  and  buried 
in  the  pillows, 

She  seemed  very  young — on  the  delicate  left  haiid  a  wed- 
ding ring  shone,  masses  of  golden,  hair  fell,  like  a  veil,  over 
her — the  voice  in  which  once  or  twice  sue  answered  him  was 
sweet  and  fresh — Ix^yond  that  all  was  guesswork. 

The  man,  stil)  hatted  and  overcoated,  was  pacing  up  and 
down  the  long  hall  when  the  doctor  came  forth. 

"Wellf  he  asked,  in  a  voice  of  suppressed  intensity. 

"Well,"  n^plied  Dr.  Worth,  rather  shortly,  "it  is  well.  The 
hidy's  'as  well  as  ean  be  exixcted,'  and  the  baby's  about  the 
size  of  a   full-grown  wax  doll.-' 

•'And  she  is  sure  to  live?" 

"That  depends  ui)on  which  'she'  you  mean.  They're  both 
shes.      If  you  mean  the  hul.; " 

"The  lady,  of  course!"  said  the  gentleman,  angrily  and 
haugiitily, 

"The  lady's  all  right,  then,  with  common  care,  but  I 
wouldn't  like  to  stake  my  reputation  upon  the  baby's  exist- 
ence,     rii  return  to-morrow,  of  course,  and " 

"And,  with  all  deference  to  you,  sir,  you'll  do  nothing  of 
the  '-.ort.  You'll  return  no  more.  Here's  your  fee — T  think 
you'll  find  it  ample.  My  man  vill  drive  you  back  to  town, 
and  the  less  you  say  of  this  night's  work  the  better." 

In  another  half  hour  the  Speckhaven  doctor  was  again  in 
the  bosom  of  his  family,  the  richer  by  fifty  guineas  for  his 
four  hours'  work. 

And  just  two  weeks  hiter  the  mysterioiis  inhabitants  of  the 
Grange  vanished  as  suddeidy  and  strangely  as  they  had 
come,  and  the  old  house  was  givj^n  over  again  to  the  mur- 
dered cavalier  and  mad  lady. 

For  nearly  two  j'cars,  and  then  again,  as  unexpe(!tcdly  as 
before,  a  tall  u-entleman  came  down  by  the  London  train, 
bringing  a  slim,  veiled  lady  and  same  two  servants  back. 
The  gentleman  left  the  h\dy  and  returned  by  the  next  train, 
and  who  they  might  be,  and  whether  they  were  the  same,  and 
what  they  could  mean  by  such  unaccountable  goings  on,  all 
was  conjecture  in  the  town  of  Speckhaven.  'J'his  was  two 
months  before  this  twenty-fifth  of  March  crt  which  Duke 
Afason  'Uands  and  gazes,  and  no  one  had  "jc  •:  'ated  the  ^'>- 
cret,  or  se(^n  the  'ady  yet 

As  he  stood  there  in  the  gloaming,  he  heard,  for  tiie  hrst 
liiue^- voices  and  loototeps  within.    His  heart  gave  •  leaj^ 


lo    What  Duke  Mason  Saw  and  Heard. 

Tho  iootsteps  were  fast  approaohinci.  the  voices  drawing 
iiear^  carriage  wlieel.4  ground  over  the  jiravoled  avenue. 

The  soinid  of  boUs  withdravini;,  of  a  key  turning  sk»\vly  in 
a  rusi.y  iock,  '-vanicd  the  listener.  Duke  Mason  d  /ted  be- 
hi:ic"  "lii'cf  tl  e  liu^e  buUi>-5~os  ^{hc  falling  darkne:->  screen- 
in:5  bim  as  well,  lie  could  see  quite  plainly,  himself  unob- 
served. 

A  heavy-featured  groom  drove  out  ii,i  a  two-wheeled  chaise, 
and  an  elderly,  thiji-faced  woman  stood  looking  after  him, 
and  swinginig  a  huge  key. 

"Look  here,  Joseph,"  she  said,  "I  wish  you'd  lock  the  gate, 
atid  take  the  key  with  you;  I've  the  masters  dinner  to  get, 
and  you  know  how  particular  he  is,  and  it's  nigh  on  a  quarter 
oi'  a  mile's  walk  down  here  from  the  house,  and  it's  no  good 
fofching  me  down  again  when  you're;  coming  back.  Just 
lock  the  gate  on  the  outside,  Joseph,  will  you,  and  take  the 
key  along  i'' 

She  inserted  the  key  013  the  outside,  and  hurried  rapidly 
up  the  avenue  out  of  the  cold,  shutting  the  gate  before  she 
went.     Joseph  looked  stolidly  at  the  closed  gate. 

"I've  left  it  unlocked  afore,  and  no  harm  came  of  it,  and 
T  arn't  going  to  get  down  now.  If  there  never  was  a  lock 
on  this  old  rat  trap,  people  would  run  a  mile  sooner  than 
venture  in,  and  wery  right  they  is.  I'll  be  back  in  an  hour, 
and  arn't  goin'  to  get  out  to  do  it,  and  save  your  old  bones, 
Mother  Grimshaw." 

With  which  Joseph  gathered  up  the  reirs.  and  gave  the 
horse  h\>  head,  and  trotted  oft. 

Dvke  Mason  emerged,  hit  breath  tdirl>  taken  away  with 
surprise  nnd  delight. 

At  Inst  I  There  stood  the  gates  unlocked  and  unbolted, 
and  the  way  to  the  hidden  princess  wa?  c'enr.  He  drew  the 
key  from  the  keyhole,  opened  the  massive  ^ate  cautiously, 
drew  it  after  him  again,  and  in  the  chill  gray  ot  the  March 
eveniuii  stood  within  the  grounds  o±  the  Gran^^ 


•,: 


i 


CHAPT^JR  n. 

WHAT  DUKE   MASON   SAW   AND  KeARO. 

Grasping  his  walking-stick  a  little  tighter,  Mr.  Mason 
madt^  his  \^^y  up  the  gloomy  avenue  of  firs.  It  was  quite 
d^rrk  now,  and  the  very  "blacknnss  <oi  darkness'"  reiiroed  in 
this  moiot  gloomy  drive.  Therf  would  be  a  moon  presently; 
ponding  its  rising,  the  gloom  ul  TartaruB  reigned.  It  wafi 
iust  a  ouActer  o<  •  mik  to  the  houNb    £iii  mao^  ibaiv 


<^'hat  Duke  ^'a  en  Saw  and  Heard,     ii 

walking  brought  him  to  it,  looiulii^  up  a  l)h\ckor,  bulkiei 
shadow  among  the  shadows.  A  long,  iuw,  invguLir  mansion, 
mucli  inclined  to  run  to  chimneys  iind  ;r;il)]r-;  and  tur^'ots, 
with  small  leaden  casements,  and  two  lami)s  burning  over 
the  portico  entrance. 

Through  cue  <  f  the  v.ijulnws  !N[ason  saw  a  picture  that 
haunted  him  in  his  slcepii!g  and  waking  dreams  lii<  life 
"long.  A  long,  low  room,  oak  i)aneled,  oak  floured,  with  here 
and  there  ricli  rugs  covering  its  slippery  l)lai'kness,  l';ide«l 
tapestry  on  the  walls,  tajjcstry  wrought  centuri'.?;  ago  hy 
many  a  fair  /  lice  and  Kilith  of  the  Lyndith  raee,  mas«;ive 
furniture,  rickety  with  time,  a  wood  fire  blazing  clieerily  on 
the  hearth,  the  only  cheery  thing  in  the  apaftmiMit,  nnd  a 
little  cottage  piano  in  a  corn<!r,  standing  open,  with  music 
flpon  it,  as  if  the  performer  had  but  lately  left. 

"A  very  charming  bit  of  still  life,  after  Wat  tea  u,"  thought 
the  spectator;  "a  very  pretty  interior,  indeed.  Now,  if  the 
dramatis  personae  would  but  appear!" 

The  thought  had  barely  crossed  his  mind  when,  at  if  it 
had  evoked  her,  the  door  ojiened,  and  a  yi»ung  lady  v'ame 
in.     Duke  gave  a  gasp. 

Her*'  w«is  the  sleejjing  beauty,  the  hidden  princess  "^he 
my-^terioLis    houri   of   the  haunte.l   house,  herself 

'*And,  by  Jove?  a. beauty  of  the  first  water."'  thr-ughr  Duke, 
with  as  near  an  approach  to  enthusiasm  as  was  in  his  nature; 
'tht  be^t-looking  voung  woman  I've  seen  this  mr-nth  -^ 
Sundays."       '' 

Mr,  Mason  was  r'^ub^  -she  was  vei-y  pretty  -  very  prf-rty, 
indeed.  A  petite  figure,  sliiu,  youthful,  supple,  two  or^at» 
dark  ^yes.  that  lit  up  her  small  fiice  like  dusk  star>  a  pro- 
fusion of  waving  yellow  hair,  that  fell  in  a  shining  stiower  U> 
he  J   w.iist. 

A  dress  of  wine-colored  silk  trailed  behind  her.  diamonds 
twinkled  in  her  eiirs  and  on  her  hands,  and  in  the  firelight 
nbe  made  a  picture  so  daz;?ling  that  Duke  gazed  breathless, 
bewitched. 

She  went  ap  to  the  mantel,  a  tall  structure  of  black  mar- 
ble, and  leaning  lightly  against  it,  looked  steadfastly  into  the 
red  flaifte.  Her  clasped  hands  hung  loosely  before  h<'r,  the 
willowy  Hgure  drooped,  the  straight,  black  brows  were  bent, 
the  mouth  compresst\l.  the  whole  attitude,  the  whole  ex- 
pression, full  of  weary,  hopelt.  -^   nain 

For  nearly  ten  minutes  the  voung  lady  ]to*»d  without  mov- 
ing still  farintr  with  'mi  hr«»\\>-  into  the  leapirrtr  firelitrht. 
Then,  with  a  long.  heart-i<  k  ^ijih,  -ne  sfarled,  crosse<i  the 
room  once  or  twice,  always*  lost  in  deep  and  painful  thought, 
tbasi  su^derl^  .^eate^  herseii  at  the  piano  and  bu^au  to  sin^ 


12    What  Duke  Mason  Saw  and  Heard. 


•iji 


■i>i 


Thon,  rnoro  siuMoiily  than  she  had  sat  down,  ahc;  aroaft 
her  whole  face  working,  and  hehl  out  lier  arms  with  a  aup^ 
pr(>sso<I  8ob. 

"Robert!"  she  cried,  "oh,  my  Robert!  my  Robert!  come 
back!" 

Just  at  that  instant  the  rapid  roll  of  wheeh  outside  told 
Duke  the  chaise  was  returning.  An  instant  later,  and  the 
gates  were  flung  wide  open,  and  the  chaise  whirled  rapidly 
up  the  drive  to  tlie  house. 

"F  wonder  what  he  thought  when  he  found  the  key  gone  I" 
reflected  Mr.  Mason,  witli  a  chuckle. 

The  chaise  ^topped  before  the  portico  entrance,  and,  by 
the  liglit  of  the  lamps,  the  watcher  saw  a  tall  man  spring  out, 
say  a  few  words  rapidly  and  authoritatively,  as  one  accus- 
tomed to  command,  and  disappear  into  the  house.  The  car- 
riage was  driven  round  to  the  rear,  and  silence  fell  upon 
Lyndith  (irange. 

The  young  huly  in  the  lighted  room  had  heard,  and  see"n, 
too.  When  Duke  looked  again,  her  whole  attitude  had 
changed.  She  stood  erect,  her  little  figure  seeming  to  dilate 
and  grow  tall,  her  head  thrown  back,  her  great  eyes  alight, 
her  small  hands  tightly  clenched. 

That  moment  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  the  gentleman 
entered.  A  tall  gentleman,  elderly  and  stout,  and  florid  and 
good-looking,  with  a*  great  porfusion  of  whiskers  and  iron- 
gray  hair.  A  gentleman  as  grim  and  sterrk  as  Lyndith 
Grange  itself,  who  gave  the  young  lady  a  cool  glance,  a  cool 
nod,  and  a  cool  greeting. 

"How  do,  Olivia?  IToth  do  you  find  yourself  to-night? 
Any  change  for  the  better  since  I  saw  you  last,  two  weeks 


ago 


v 


"I  will  never  go  back  to  town  on  your  terms,  TJncle  GeoflF- 
rey!"  she  said,  her  voice  trembling  with  excitement. 
"Never!  never!  T  can  live  here — T  can  die  here,  if  you  will, 
but  I'll  never  yield !  I  only  wish  T  could  die,  but  I  live  on, 
and  on,  with  all  that  makes  life  worth  living  for  gone."  Her 
lips  trembled,  her  voice  died  away. 

The  man  looked  at  her  with  a  sneering  smile.      "•♦^ 

"Which,  translated,  means  Robert  Lisle  is  gone,  and  after 
him  the  deluge.  T  wonder  you  like  to  allude  to  him,  my 
dear.  Disgrace  has  rarely  co'me  to  people  of  your  blood, 
and  such  disgrace  as  you  have  brought  upon  us  rarely  comes 
to  any  family.  You  will  not  yield.  Afay  T  ask  what  you 
mean  to  do?" 

"Disgrace'''  loneated  the  girl,  with  sullen  anger;  "you 
Boedn't  use  that  tt^-^rd  duite  so  ofteu,  1  think,     I'll  not  marry 


trd. 

th  a  aupr 

'I't!  come 

side  told 
and  the . 
i  rapidly  " 

y  gone  I" 

and,  by 
ring  out, 
e  accus- 
rhe  car- 
ill  upon 

id  seen, 
ide   had 

0  dilate 
i  alight, 

itleman 
rid  and 
d  iron- 

yndith 

a  cool 

night? 
weeka 

GcoflF- 
?ment. 

1  will, 
ve  on. 

Her 


after 
p,  my 

)lood, 

omea 

you 

"you 
Larry 


What  Duke  Mnson  Saw  and  Heard.     1} 

sir  Vane  Chartoris,  if  tliiU's  what  you  mrnn.  I'll  not!  I'll 
die  first  r 

Mr.  Lyndith  looked  at  Iut,  as  a  man  might  look  at  a 
headstrong  child  resisting-  with  all  its  small  might. 

"You'll  die  first!  ^ly  i)oor,  littl(>,  rojnantic  Livey!  It's 
80  easy  to  say  that — so  very  hard  to  do.  l^ut  I  don't  tlrink 
you'll  kill  yourself,  l/ife  is  very  sweet  to  young  persons  of 
nineteen,  oven  though  they  li:ive  lost  their  Kohert " 

The  girl  started  up,  goaded  to  a  sort  of  frenzy. 

"rnele  (ileoffrey,  do  you  want  to  drive  me  mad?  Don*t 
go  too  far!  I  warn  you,  it  is  jiot  safe!  Ah,  Heaven  liave 
pity,  for  there  is  none  on  earth!" 

She  hroke  out  into  such  a  wild  storm  of  hysterical  so])hing 
that  the  man  she  addressed  was  really  a  little  startled.  Ordy 
a  little,  for  he  knew  women  very  well;  and  he  knew  when 
the  tears  and  the  sobs  come,  they  were  by  no  means  at  their 
^lost  dangerous. 

Geoffrey  Lyndith  stretched  out  his  hand  and  touched  her. 
She  shook  it  oflF  as  though  it  had  l)een  a  viper. 

"Don't  touch  me!"  she  cried;  "don't  speak  to  me!  You 
have  been  the  eruelest  guardian,  the  most  unfeeling  uncle  that 
ever  lived.  You  say  my  father  was  a  hard  man.  Perhaps 
so;  but  he  never  would  have  broken  my  heart,  and  driven  me 
to  despair,  as  you  have  done!" 

"Your  father  would  have  broken  Robert  I.isle's  head !"  re- 
torted her  uncle,  coolly.  "Tie  would  have  shot  him  like  a 
dog,  as  he  was,"  and  instead  of  bearing  with  your  relx^llious 
humors,  as  I  have  done,  he  would  have  ma(ie  you  marry  Sir 
Vane  Charteris  months  ago.  Take  cnre,  Olivia,  that  you  do 
not  weary  even  my  patience  and  forbearance!  Take  care  1 
do  not  force*  you  to  obey !" 

"You  cannot!" 

"That  remains  to  be  seen.  ^Yhat  is  to  hinder  my  fetehing 
Sfr  Vane  and  a  clergyman  down  here,  and  marrying  you  out 
of  hand?" 

"No  clergyman  wouL/  perform  such  a  marriage." 

"The  Rev.  George  Lot'tus  would,  lie  owes  me  his  living, 
and  he  understands  this  case  exactly,  and  knows  I  am  but 
obeying  your  late  father's  instructions.  I  give  you  one  more 
■<reek.  Olivia.  If  your  reason  has  not  returned  by  that  time, 
we  v'ill  try  what  a  little  wholesome  coercion  will  do.  Once 
married,  these  whims  ^nd  vapors  of  yours  will  end.  You 
will  like  Sir  Vane — women  always  like  their  husbands  after 
marriage,  you  know,  and  I  dare  say  you'll  be  a  very  sensible 
wife,  as  wives  go,  yet.  I'm  going  down  to  dinner  now."  He 
pulled  out  b&s  watch.  "Will  you  take  my  arm,  Misa 
tyndithr  ,..._-,.,,....,.       .      :,        .         ,    .•..-..,.,,      ..,;u.^, 


14 


Mr.  Mason  Elopes- 


•*No,  I  want  r.o  dinner." 

''Ao  you  please.  Think  matters  over,  m^'  dear,  and,  foi; 
pity's  sako,  do  try  to  be  calm,  and  drop  melodrama.  Oive 
me  your  promise,  and  I  will  fetch  you  back  to  town  to-mor- 
row-     We  Lyndiths  always  keep  our  word." 

He  loft  the  rofjin  as  he  spoke.  The  pfirl  crossed  to  the 
window,  wringing-  her  hands  in  frantic,  helpless,  despairing 
appeal,    ■ 

*'()h!''  she  eried,  "is  there  no  help  in  all  heaven  and 
earth  for  me?" 

She  was  standing  clos-i^by  one  of  the  windows,  and  tlie 
passionate  prayer  was  scarcely  uttered  before  it  was  an- 
swered. 

A  man's  face  looked  at  her  through  the  glass — a  man*s 
voice  spoke. 

"Don't  he  alar.ned,"  said  the  voice,  as  the  man  pulled  off 
his  hat.    "I'll  help  you,  if  you'll  only  tell  me  how  I" 


CHlPTER  in. 

MB.  MA.SON  ELOPES. 

The  young  girl  recoiled,  as  she  very  well  might,  from  so 
unexpected  an  ai>parition,  and  gazed  at  the  stranger  with 
large,  frightened  eyes. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  madam,"  Mr.  Mason  repeated,  with  the 
greatest  respect;  "I  am  a  friend,  if  you  will  permit  me  to 
say  so.  An  hour  ago,  chancing  to  pass  your  gates,  and  find- 
ing them,  for  a  wonder,  unlocked,  curiosity  prompted  me  to 
enter.  I  concealed  myself  in  yonder  tree — quite  unpardon- 
able on  my  part,  I  know;  but,  again,  strong  curiosity  must 
plead  my  excuse.  And  in  that  tree  I  must  own  I  played 
eavesdropper.  I  have  overheard  every  word  of  your  conver- 
sation with  the  gentleman  who  has  just  left  this  room.  It 
looks  rather  suspicious,  apparently,  I  own;  but  really  the 
conversation,  the  whole  occiwrence  has  been  so  strange,  so 
out  of  the  usual  course,  that  singularity  must  plead  my  par- 
don. As  T  said  before — now  that  I  am  here — ^if  I  can  be  of 
the  slightest  use  to  you,  madam,  pray  command  me.*' 

And  Mr.  Mason  paused  for  breath.  He  was  not  long- 
winded  as  a  rule,  didn't  in  the  least  shine  in  conversation, 
and  lo!  here  he  was  breaking  forth,  an  orator.  Dire  neces- 
sities demand  stringent  measures.  j 

Mr.  Mason  rose  with  the  occasion,  and  was  eloquent! 

The  young  lady  listened  and  looiied  at  him.  still  surprised, 
ttill  doubtful 


'J  h 


*    '  .•-'4    > 


■(y-t 


Mr    Mason   Elopes 


15 


■>  and,  foL 
^a.  Give 
vn  to-irior- 

ml  to  the 
iespairing 

^ven   and 

and  tlie 
wa3  an- 

-a  man*3 

mlled  off 


from  R<) 
:er  with 

vith  the 
me  to 
id  find- 
1  me  to 
3ardon- 
y  must 
played 
ionvlir- 
m.    It 
ly  the 
>ffe,  so 
y  par- 
be  of 

longr- 
ation, 
neces- 


rised. 


*T  am  a  stranger  hrro,"  pursuod  Diiko.  "1  caino  from 
London  two  weeks  a^o,  to  visit  an  old  friend  residing  in 
Rpeckhavnn.  To-nij^ht  T  wis  to  hnve  rotnrned  homo,  and 
thinkinj:^  of  sonicthinpr  else,  took  the  wronff  turning  at  the 
crossroads,  and  found  niyself  htjie.  I  am  an  intruder,  I 
know,  and  have  no  business  whatever  on  the  premises,  but 
tip.ini  I  repeat:  Being  here,  if  T  ean  be  or  any  use  to 
you 

She  drew  near,  her  lips  ajiart,  her  eyes  shinincr,  iicr  hands 
clasped. 

"You  w-11  help  nie!  I  want  to  escape,  I  am  a  prisoner 
hcrCo  Oh  I  surely  you  are  not  deceiving  me  I  You  are  hot 
an  emissary  of  Mr.  Lyndith  or  Sir  Vane  CliartcrJs!" 

"Madam,  imtil  within  the  last  half  hour,  T  never  knew 
those  two  gentlemen  were  in  existence.  I  will  help  you  ia 
any  way  you  may  please  to  name." 

There  was  no  doubting  the  sincerity  of  hi^  tono.  Still, 
the  mysterious  young  lady  gazed  at  him,  a,s  if  to  rtad  his 
heart  in  his  face.  Poor  TVike!  it  wasn't  at  all  a  handsome 
face.  His  eyes  were  of  the  palest,  most  insipid  sky-blue — 
his  nose  was  a  decided  snub,  his  whiskers  were  sparse,  and 
wont  to  crop  up  in  a  variety  of  i)ale-yellow  and  dull-red 
Gtubble,  that  surprised  even  himself.  The  n»ost  sentimental 
Rchoolgirl  could  nut  for  Hie  life  of  her  make  a  hero  of 
Marmaduke  Mason,  but  tae  silliest  schoolgirl  f>f  them  all 
might  have  trusted  him,  as  she  could  have  dared  to  ti;uat 
few  of  his  sex. 

It  was  an  honest  face,  and  the  clear  eyes  searching  it 
knew  they  might  trust  him.  She  leaned  forward  to  him 
through  (lie  half-open  window.  I'he  moon,  rising,  now 
gleamed  forth  from  a  bank  of  jagged  clouds,  and  silvered 
the  sweet,  pale  fate. 

"Will  you  help  me  to  escape?"  she  whispere«l,  earnestly. 
"I  am  a  prisoner  here — 1  have  been  for  the  last  two  months. 
My  uncle  is  my  guardian,  and  he  wants  me  to  mai'ry  s  man 
I  hate — I  hate!"  She  set  her  little  teeth,  and  ihe  big.  black 
eyes  flashed.  "1  will  run  away  to-night,  if  vou  will  help 
me." 

"I  will  help  youc     lell  me  what  I  am  to  doV 
*'TIow  did   you   say   you   got    in?     The  gates   f" 
locked  and  bolted." 

*''!  hey  were  not  this  evr-riing.  The  oervanf  wlr:^  drove  ^o 
the  station  thought  it  too  much  trouble  to  descend  and  lock 
them  after  him.  It  appears  he  is  in  the  habit  of  leaving 
them  unfastened,  and  no  harm  has  ever  come  of  it.  I  was 
in  hiding;  the  moment  he  left  I  drew  the  kes   from  the 


h 


vays 


16 


Mr,  Mason  Elopes, 


lock— -here  it.  is — am]  canio  in.     I  don't  know  what  hn  said  oi 
di'l,  I'm  sure,  when  he  came  back  and  found  it  gone," 

"Then  there  is  notliinti:  to  prevent  niy  e.s(;ai»infr.  Oh, 
thank  lloaven!  I  belu  ve  I  should  fio  mad  if  kept  another 
week  lierr.  But  it  is  S(»  inueh  k*  a^k  of  you,  a  atran^cr,  to 
do  what  I  want." 

*'i\ot  one  n-hit  too  m«u  h  Please  don't  think  of  me.  Wlinl 
am  T  to  do  ?'' 

The  yirl  {.?hineed  anxio\Js]y  over  her  nhouhJtr,  • 

"If  you  arc  seen.  J  don't  know  what  may  happen,  Mr, 
Lyndilli  is — oh!  an  awful  nuii!  and  he  will  return  here 
directly.  lie  i-:  p>inp:  to  stay  all  niffht,  and  the  doors  and 
windows  will  be  made  fast  in  aH  hour.  If  I  ^et  away  at  all 
it  will  be  midnight  fully  l^efore  I  dare  venture.  And  in  the 
meantime "     She  looked  at  him  more  anxiously. 

"'Yes.  Miss  Lyndith.  I  bog  your  pardon,  but  I  heard  him 
call  you  that,  you  know." 

"My  name  is  Olivia  Lyndith.  But  between  this  and  mid- 
night— and  it  is  only  seven  o'clock  now — ohT^Mr.  '^ 

"Mason,  Miss  Lyndith." 

"Mr.  Mason,  how  will  you  manag'c?  1  hese  March  nights 
are  so  cold,  and  five  long,  lonely,  freezing  hours!  No,  it  ia 
too  much!" 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  looked  at  him  in  despair.  Duke 
8m  i  led. 

"Please  don't  think  of  me,  Miss  Lyndith.  I  will  wait  with 
all  the  pleasure  in  life.  I  don't  mind  it — upon  my  word 
and  honor,  I  don't!  I  like  it — yes  I  do — it's  an  adventure, 
you  see,  and  I  never  had  an  adventure  before  in  the  whole 
course  of  my  existence.  I  will  go  back  to  my  friend,  the 
elm  tree,  and  wait  for  midnight  and  you.  May  I  ask  how 
you  propose  getting  out?" 

"Through  this  window.  Oh!  how  kind,  how  good  you  are, 
sir,  and  I  am  quite  friendless  nnd  alone  here!  These  win- 
dows are  secured  by  bolts  on  the  inside.  I  can  easily  draw 
them,  lift  the  window,  and  jump  out.  Oh,  Mr.  Mason,  go — 
quick,  for  pity's  sake.     My  uncle  is  here!" 

She  sprang  back  from  the  window.  Duke  made  for  hh 
tree.  Just  as  he  regained  his  roost  the  door  opened,  and 
Mr.  Lyndith,  looking  less  grim  and  more  humanized,  as  the 
most  savage  of  men,  I  notice,  arc  apt  to  do  after  dinner, 
came  in 

"  The  young  lady  had   flung  herself   inro   his  ami'^haiT  btr 
fore  the  are.     She  arose  sullenly  at  his  entrance. 

"One  moment.  Miss  Lyndith,"  he  said.  "Will  you  return 
with  me  to-mor.'ow  to  London?"       -  ,       -■      . 

*Y«8,  decidedly.''  ^      .,     .  .     „ 


Mr.  Mason  Elopes. 


r; 


ho  f5ai(I  f>i 

ins-.      Oh. 
>♦  arjotlier 

10.     Whnf 


X'n,  Mr, 
n'-M  here 
loors  aii(i 
■ay  at  all 
id  in  the 

• 

?ard  him 
md  mid- 

h  nip^hts 

^O,   it   13 

Duko 

ait  with 
y  word 
'enture, 
?  whole 
nd,  the 
3k  how 

^u  are, 
e  win- 
^  draw 

I.  ffO-- 

or  hifj 

,   and 

as  the 

liner, 

r  ber 
eturo 


i.8  the  promised  wife  of  Sir  Vano  Ch:irteri.s?" 

■-*No!" 

"Then  you  prefer  roinaininpr  a  prisoner  indefinitely?" 

"I  prefer  anything  to  marrying  Sir  Vane  Cliarleriri,  Good* 
nifi:ht.  Uncle  Geoffrey." 

"Hut,  Olivia " 

"Good-night!"  Olivia  said,  with  a  flash  of  her  great,  Idack 
eycri;  and  with  the  words  she  was  gone. 

And  Duke  waited  out.side.  One  by  one  the  minutes  told 
off  on  his  dial-j)late;  sloiN'ly  the  erystal  moon  swam  up  t.'io 
pnri)le  sky;  brightly  burned  the  frosty  stars,  and  slowly, 
from  head  to  foot,  the  wi  eher  grew  benumbed.  Most  lugu- 
brious, most  unearthly,  wailed  and  moaned  the  wind  through 
the  trees;  in  the  dead  silenee  he  could  hear  the  dull  ri)ar  of 
tlie  surf  six  miles  away.  Would  midnight,  would  Miss  Lyn- 
dith.  never  come? 

Yes.  At  half-past  eleven  exactly  he  heard  the  cautious 
withdrawal  of  the  window  bolts.  With  an  inward  thank.s- 
giving,  and  all  cramped  and  stiff,  Duke  got  do-A'ii  from  tiio 
tree,  and  approached.  Yes;  there  she  stood,  the  moonlight 
shining  on  her  pale  face  and  starry  eyes.  She  wore  a  cloak 
and  hood,  and  held  a  veil  in  her  hand.  She  motioned  him 
to  silence,  opened  the  window,  and  drew  herself  carefully 
through  the  narrow  aperture.  The  distance  was  not  fivo 
fi'ct,  but  Duke  lifted  her  gently  down  before  she  could 
sjiring.  Her  teeth  were  chattering,  partly  with  cold,  partly 
with  nervous  terror. 

"Come  on!"  ' 

He  drew  her  hand  within  his  arm — it  was  no  time  for 
ceremony,  no  time  fur  standing  on  degree — and  hurried  with 
her  down  the  avenue.  They  never  spoke.  The  gatas  were 
secured  by  massive  bolts.  Duke  shot  them  back  easily,  and 
she  stood  on  the  moonlit  highroad — free. 

"Thank  Heaven!''  he  heard  her  whisper,  as  she  glnneej 
back,  with  a  shudder,  at  the  gloomy  pile.  "I  wiil  nev<--  go 
back  alive." 

She  took  his  arm  again,  and  they  hastened  rapidly  on. 
Excitement  lent  them  strength  and  speed — i)erhaps  neither 
had  ever  walked  in  their  lives  as  they  did  that  night.  They 
were  dead  silent  by  the  s^-iy-both  were  breathless. 

They  rea«  bed  tl>^  t'>wn  as  the  Speckhaven  oiof-k^^  wcrw 
striki'i;^  t'f'-'  »pjatl.»r  ^iii-r  niid'iilc:ht.  It  lay  s+ill  in  the  moon- 
light— solciMily  !>till — white  and  cold.  They  iiurricd  through 
its  c^\vc^  street.>3.  iiol  meeting  half-a-d<'?:en  ;^;eoplo  until  tiny 
had  left  it  behind.  ,'     '    ;  --  .v'i«  >- 

The  station  stood,  a.=<  it  is  in  the  nature  of  stations  to 
Stand,  in  a  dreary  track  of  waste  land,  on  the  outskiita  oi 


l^ 


Mr„  Mason  Elopes. 


thos  town.  At  haW-past  twrlvo  t^oy  readied  it.  One  or  two 
ofHciah;,  with  blue  noses  and  sleepy  eyes,  stared  at  them 
p'olidly.  'Die  next  train  for  London  was  a  alow  train;  and 
it  would  i)Hss  at  two-fifteen.  Nearly  two  lunirs  to  wait! 
She  sai.'v  down  in  a  j-cal,  exhausted — white  as  a  spirit.  Duko 
left  h(  r  bv  the.  fir(^,  and  went  in  search  of  refi-eshinents;  hut 
at  th  it  Ijour  there  was  nothing  to  be  ha<l.  Me  returned  to 
tf'll  })er  f"\  with  a  disappointed  face,  and,  to  his  surprise,  she 
lookcil  up  at  him  with  great  tears  shining  in  the  dusky  eyes, 
and  'ook  his  hand  in  both  her  own. 

"J low 'good  you  are?"  she  said.  "How  good!  how  goodl 
How  ean  I  ever  thank  you,  Mr.  Mason  f 

Mr,  Mason  had,  like  all  his  sex — devoid  of  little  weak- 
nesses of  any  sort,  themselves — a  strong  aversion  to  scenes, 
Jle  turned  very  red,  and  drew  his  hand  away,  as  if  thohO 
soft  lingers  burned  him — muttering  something  incoherent 
about  "not  mentioning  it — taking  a  little  nap  in  her  chair 
before  the  train  came." 

"Wait  a  minute,"  she  said;  "we  don't  know  what  may 
haj)pcn!  I  may  bo  followed,  and  brought  back  in  spite  of 
you;  and  some  day  I  may  need  a  kind  friend's  help  again. 
Take  this  ring;  it  is  worth  a  great  deal.  Oh,  you  must — and 
kee])  it  for  my  sake.  Give  me  your  London  addnvss,  n«»w 
that  we  have  time,  and  whether  we  get  safe  to  Paris  or  not. 
Some  ilay  I  may  seek  your  help  again;  and  if  I  ever  need 
you.  you  will  come?" 

"I  will  come,"  he  said,  simply. 

I'c  ;'.v:ive  her  the  address,  No.  50  Half-Moon  Terrace, 
BI(>oM'f  bury,  and  she  wrote  it  in  a  little  pocketbo  ik.  The 
t  ing  siie  had  forced  upon  him  blazed  in  his  hand  like  a  glow- 
ing coal.  It  was  an  opal,  curiously  set  in  dead  gold — most 
sini'-trr  and  beautiful  of  stones. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Mason,"  she  repeated,  looking  grate- 
fully up  with  those  wonderful  black  eyes.  "I  will  never  for- 
get your  kindness  while  I  live.  And  now  I  will  try  to  rest 
until  tlic  train  comes." 

She  sank  down  in  her  chair  before  the  fire,  shading  her 
face  with  one  hand,  and  Duke  left  her,  and  paced  up  and 
down  the  platform.  How  the  moments  lagged — it  was  worse 
than  waiting  in  the  tree.  Once  in  motion,  and  Speckhaven 
in  the  distance,  he  could  feel  almost  safe — not  before. 

"Poor  little  thing!"  he  thought;  "poor  little,  pretty,  young 
lady!  What  a  brute  that  uncle  must  be  to  persecute  and 
imprison  such  a  helpless,  tender  creature,  and  what  a  lucky 
fellow  that  Robert  is !" 

One!  pealed  from  the  station  clock.  An  hour  and  fifteen 
minutes  j9t  to  wait,  and  every  seoond  precioufi.    Half  paal 


In  the  Waifinu-Room. 


N 


one! — two! — Duk<'s  ht,nrt  was  hcatinj;  thicu  nnd  fast  '.vith 
fiusponsc.  Fifteen  minufe.s  iiion*  -  lie  would  ^o  and  see  if  ^;ho 
Blo|)t — poor  cliild.  He  tiin.i.'d  t«i  ^)h -stopjicd  slmrt— hi^  lieart 
el<)p]KMi,  too,  for  carriage  vvln'cls  were  tlyiii^;  tliroUKl»  tl»" 
sili'iit  streets,  straight  aloii^  to  the  station.  Xearer.  nearer! 
A  sudden  stop — a  man  leaped  out  and  slro(h«  strai^^ht  to  tlie 
waitin(.r-rooni.  lie  heiird  a  low.  woi'dle.-ts  cry  within  th;il  tild 
hiui  all.  Tlien,  with  elenehed  tists  and  a  feroeious  feilin;:f'in 
hi.s  usually  j)eaeeful  hreast,  he  ini^do  for  th(i  waitinnrooni, 
and  lootiiinj^-  n\)  hiaek — stern — grim — awful — ho  coii fronted 
Mr.  Gcjotfrey  Lyndith. 


CHAPTKR  IV. 


IN    TIIK    WAITIN'G-HOOM. 


It  wns  a  decidedly  strikinjf  scene* — that  sudden  api)onr- 
anec  of  Air.  (leoffrey  Lyndith  in  the  waiting-room  of  the 
S])eckhaven  station. 

Duke,  regarding  it  from  the  doorway,  thought  so.  Mr. 
Mason,  by  profession,  was  a  sceno-i>ainter  to  the  Royal 
Waterloo  Britannia  Theatre,  and,  viewing  the  tableau  in  a 
purely  professional  light,  he  decided  it  would  be  rather  a 
strong -finish  for  a  scene  on  the  boards. 

The  young  lady  had  arisen,  and  stood  facing  her  guardian. 
Her  small,  dark  face,  always  colorless,  was  blanched  to  a  dull, 
dead  white  now,  but  the  large,  dauntless,  dark  eyes  met  his 
full — defiant.  She  gave  one  swift,  sidelong  glance  to  wlicro 
Duke  stood,  and  made  a  rapid  and  almost  imperceptible}  mo- 
tion for  him  to  remain  there. 

Mr.  Lyndiih  from  his  entrance  never  noticed  him,  though 
his  glance  scanned  the  bleak  apartment  in  search  of  any  one 
who  might  be  his  runaway  niece's  companion,  ile  came  up 
close  to  her,  grim  as  an  Egyptian  death's-head. 

"What  does  this  mean,  Olivia  f' 

She  looked  at  him  and  laughed,  a  hard,  bitter  laugh 
enough. 

"I  think  it  is  pretty  plain.  Uncle  Geoffrey.  I  am  trying 
to  run  away.  In  fifteen  minutes  more  I  shotild  have  suc- 
ceeded, too.     W^hy  have  you  followed  me,  Mr.  Lyndith?" 

^Rather  an  insolent  question,  I  think,  anc^  an  unnecessary 
one,  too."  ^ 

"For  its  insolence  I  don't  know — of  its  necessity  I  am 
very  sure.  "Why  have  you  taken  tiie  trouble  to  follow  rae? 
You  certainly  don't  expect  I  shall  go  back?" 

Tbfiiy  wer«  strlkuoglj  like  each  other^  as  the^  itood  there^ 


'li,l^ 


20 


In  the  Wnitinft-Room 


iiiiii 


n  rid,  Hullt^n  i?lo'  of  nuRor  Iturtiliii,'  i]op\)  in  tfijr  ryes,  thf 
young  giiT-  liai..'  'juw,  n-soiute  lips  r•oIn^)r«'^sl(^.  The  man 
kiu'W  hor  vv«'ll,  mill  knt'w  tlint  tlic  Ikmit  hiul  coiiip  whon  he 
riiU!-t  play  hin  l;jsf,  cml.  !!«■  dul  not  Mii^wrr  Iut  last  tlcfiant 
reniiiik;  \ui  nsknl  n  <!Ursfi»»i),  \«ry  rjiiictl^  . 

•'Are  yoii  nlonr,  <  )Iiviii  ?" 

"Who  Im  Klxdy  to  be  my  nonipnnion  ^"  slu:-  nnswcrod,  nv-k' 
lesijy.  "What.  Iriciid  havo  1  —  thanks  to  you — who  is  there 
in  tho  world  to  l;o  my  ••onipanion  in  any  of  niy  rohollioua 
fliglits?  I  stand  here  as  1  s<and  on  earth---alone— ll'^aveu 
help  n»c!" 

Iler  voiee  broke  a  little.  With  a  pa'^^'ionate  pesture  she 
Itirncd  gway  and  looked  into  the  fire.  Mr.  J.yndith  regarded 
her  in  stony  ealni. 

"May  I  ask  your  present  inteniions,  Olivia^  Tt  would  be 
a  pity  for  us  to  niisun<lerstand  eaeh  other  in  the  least." 

'*1  am  going  to  Varis,"  .'-he  answered,  her  reekless  manner 
returning.  ^'Atadaine  hi  (^iintesse  de  Florial  was  my  riiother'a 
friend.     She  will  protect  and  slielter  me." 

"She  will  not  defy  your ''  guardian.  A  Frenchwoman 
brought  up  as  i^fadame  do  Florial  has  been  would  be  the 
very  last  on  earth  to  eountenanee  a  young,  unmarried  girl 
m  such  insubordination  as  yours,  Olivia;  and  if  it  were 
otherwise,  I  have  law  and  right  on  my  side.  Remember.  I 
am  your  guar  ..ian  !" 

"You  are  my  tyrant — my  jailer!  I  will  never  go  back  to 
the  Grange — never,  so  help  me  Heaven!" 

She  raised  her  arm  with  a  gesture  worthy  Rachel  herself. 
Mr.  Mason,  in  the  doorway,  contemplated  her  admiringly. 

"There  is  a  court  of  appeal  for  such  as  I,  even  in  England. 
To  that  orphan's  tribunal  I  will  go,  and  we  will  see  whether 
you  are  to  be  an  Eastern  despot,  and  I  your  slave,  or  not. 
In  fifteen  minutes  the  London  train  will  be  here;  in  fifteen 
minutes  I  leave  Speckhaven  forever.  I  will  not  go  back, 
Geoflrey  Lyndith!" 

lie  drew  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it,  replaced  it,  and 
came  closer  to  his  niece. 

"Very  well,  Olivia,  it  shall  be  as  you  say;  only  I  cannot 
permit  you  to  travel  alone;  T  will  at  least  accompany  you, 
and,  instead  of  flying  to  Paris,  you  shall  return  with  me  to 
Park  lane.  Such  an  escapade  as  that  you  propose  is  some- 
thing more  than  preposterous — a  young  lady  of  your  posi- 
ti(m,  my  dear,  running  abotft  England  and  France  alone! 
You  will  come  honic  with  me,  and  you  will  listen  to  reason, 
and  marry  Sir  Vane  Charteris  in  April,  and  go  buck  with 
him  to  Vienna.  Hear  me  out,  please.  You  once  told  me  you 
would,  on  one  condition.    That  condition  at  the  time  I  re- 


nin 


In  the  Waiting-Room, 


91 


fui»?d  to  comply  widi.  I  witli.lruw  my  retusal  to-iii>flit, 
PromiHe  to  murry  Sir  Vunc,  aiitl  I  will  tiil<r  you  ulrjiiulit  to* 
Iii^rlit  to-   it  I 

Slio  startc'i  ii|>.  with  tlie  «^'•^lu^('  Diiivc  hid  sn  m  hi  t't>i«»-  • 
h«'r  iiiiiMl<(  ciiispt'd,  iwr  tyv^  <li';itiiig  and  lighting,  hfj  lipg 
l)roiithI(>vS  nnd  jiiuirt. 

"riK'lc  (Jcofficy — you  will?" 

"I  will." 

"It  still  livc.-i,  thru,  luid — is  widl — happy?" 

Mr.  r.ymlith  smiled  M:riiidy.  *  • 

"It  still  livoa;  it  is  woll,  I  U'li<'vt;,  nml  as  happy  as  y(»ung 
persons  of  one  year  and  nine  inonth:^  usually  arc  V<»n  shall 
havo  it,  to  do  with  it  as  you  ph-asc,  only  I  hopo,  tor  tha 
honor  of  the  family,  Miss  Lyndith."  he  laid  stronj^  emphasi!* 
on  the  name,  "that  you  will  still  continue  to  keep  its  mater- 
nity a  secret.  I'pon  my  word,  I  don't  know  what  Sir  Vane 
would  say  or  do  if " 

Olivia  T.yndith's  black  eyes  flashed  upon  him  with  an  al- 
most savage  light. 

"Leave  his  nanie  out  of  tl^.e  question,  if  you  please.  Thig 
is  your  last  card,  T  am  aware;  you  have  played  it.  N(»w  sup- 
pose I  still  refuse?" 

There  was  a  whole  world  of  scorn  and  defiance  in  th?  hand- 
some, mutinous  face  of  tlvis  girl  of  eighteen.  She  was 
trembling  all  over,  partly  with  cold,  partly  with,  nervous  (>x- 
citement.  Geoffrey  Lyndith  met  her  blazing  eyes  steailily, 
with  a  gaze  cold,  hard,  inflexible. 

"In  that  case  you  shall  never  see  it,  alive  or  dead.  It  shall 
be  taken  from  the  comfortable  home  in  which  it  is  now,  and 
j^iven  over  to  the  poorest  kind  I  can  discover.  It  shall  he 
brought  up  in  squilld  poverty  and  vice,  a  creature,  which, 
when  it  attains  womanhood,  you  will  be  the  first  to  shrink 
with  horror  from.     That  is  all." 

A  more  pallid  h  je  came  over  the  girl's  pallid  iacc — her 
very  lips  whitened  .;o  ashes. 

"It  will  be  a  fate  good  enough  for  Tlohcrt  Lisle's  child. 
For  you,  Olivia — you  are  but  eignteen—  for  Three  years  more 
do  as  you  will,  say  as  you  will,  the  law  makes  me  your 
master.  Your  talk  is  nothinpc  but  talk — the  only  thing  you 
can  bring  r gainst  me  is  that  I  try  to  carry  out  the  condi- 
tions of  your  late  father's  will,  and  see  you  Lady  Charteris 
upon  your  eighteenth  birthday.  You  refuse — I  h^vc  reason 
to  fear  you  will  run  away  and  go  to  tlie  bad.  and.  to  t)re- 
vent  it,  I  fetch  you  down  to  my  coiintry  house  aii«l  lavs 
you  there  with  two  trusty  servants.  Your  orphan's  coiirt 
will  tell  you  I  am  doing  my  duty.  And  should  you  make 
any  8Uch  appeal'^ — ^his  face  grew  black  and  A^id  aun^  iron-^ 


t  i; 


?x 


In  the    A/.  '"Jr^g'Rooni 


,  t 


ir 


It 


!      I 


iHli 


"I  will  tell  to  the  worl<:  the  whole  story  of  the  shame^uJ 
past— how  you,  a  child,  scarce  sixteen,  ran  away  to  Scot- 
land with  a  yeoman's  son— a  thief.  Miss  Lyndith,  caught  in 
the  very  act-  -a  fellow  drowned,  as  he  deserved  to  be.  in  his 
flight  to  America.  The  world  shall  know  this  charming 
story,  though  the  honor  of  all  the  Lyndiths  that  ever  lived 
go  with  it.  Ycu  are  very  young,  Olivia;  you  are  very  hand- 
•iome — y.tu  are  proud,  and  came  of  a  proud  race — how  will  it 
be  with  you  ftien  ?"        -  i 

All  her  high  courage — only  a  frantic  woman's  courage  at 
best — had  given  way  under  the  lash  of  his  scorpion  tongue, 
under  his  resolute  man's  strength.  She  had  covered  hot 
face  with  both  hands — dry,  hysterical  sobs  shook  her.  Tlie 
pxcit'oment  of  the  night,  the  cold,  the  desolation,  were  toll- 
ing .)n  her,  as  such  things  tell  on  her  sex.  Duke  Ma.ron's 
fists  clenched — the  desire  to  go  and  punch  Mr.  Lyndith's 
head  was  growing  too  great  for  human  strength  to  bear. 

"I  am  sorry  to  distress  you,  Olivia,"  her  uncle  said,  after 
a  very  brief  pause;  "but,  my  poor,  impulsive,  headstrong 
child,  it  is  for  your  own  good.  You  must  obey  your  dead 
father.  You  must  marry  the  man  he  chose  for  you — y-ou 
nuji-t  submit  to  the  inevitable.  Let  the  disgraceful  oast  be 
blotted  out.  become  the  wife  of  an  honorable  gentleman,  and 
behave  like  ^  rational  being.  You  can't  suppose  T  want  to 
drag  the  story  of  that  dead  boor's  villainy,  and  your  folly — 
to  call  it  by  no  harsher  term — before  the  light?  I  am  your 
best  friend,  Olivia,  though  you  may  not  think  so.  I  d(»n't 
w'Hnt  to  ill-treat  the  little  one,  to  visit  the  sins  of  her  !)a rents 
on  her.  ohc  has  been  well  treated  and  cared  for  since  hvT 
birth,  on  my  honor  she  has,  and  I  will  give  her  to  you  to  .io 
with  as  you  please,  as  soon  as  we  return  to  town  1  promise 
you  this  if  you  will  promise  to  marry  Sir  Vane  Chnrrciis. 
There  are  eight  niinutei=!  still  before  the  train  come-.,  1  ^ V^ 
you  five  of  them  to  decide.  Robert  Lisle  lies  at  ihe  bott(^:n 
of  the  Atlantic,  and  you  must  marry  some  time  Try  aiul 
consider  that,  Olivia," 

He  turned  and  left  her.  Her  hands  d'-opped  from  b('- 
foro  her  face;  she  walked  over  to  one  of  the  windows,  and 
looked  oul.  Th.erc  was  a  whole  world  of  despair  in  the  larp:(\ 
mehnvhnlv  r-yes;  her  arms  hung  listlessly  by  her  side;  she 
stood  th"!  .^iloiie,  a  v(  ry.  tigurc  of  desolation. 

The  bniiir.iU  nii(lnii,''ht  moon  shone  down  with  itt  ivory 
light;  the  dark,  spiidy  waste  glimmered  in  its  bea'r;^..  The 
wind  of  ;hr  cold  Tkfarch  n>orning  sighed  ecily  aioimd  tho 
lonoly  bviilfing — without  the  dreariness,  suitir.;  '^  -•  utter 
misery  within,.  She  sighed  a  long,  shuddenii'^  :  art-sick 
sigh. 


In  the  Waiting-Room. 


'*He  is  right,"  she  t^-^vc-lit;  "it  is  inovitable.  Ah,  Robert, 
,  r.iv  love,  my  husband,  ■  I  were  only  with  you,  under  th<? 
dark  Atlantic  waves,  ijut  I  must  have  Vour  child — my 
baby — my  darling,  at  any  cost  to*myself.  What  (kjos  it 
matter  what  becomes  of  such  a  wretch  as  1  am'^  It  l  must 
marry  some  one  as  he  says,  as  well  Sir  VTine  as  another.  1 
will  Ro  tn  St.  George's  in  lace  and  orange  blosso.ns,  and  bo 
congratulated,  and  smile,  and  play  the  dreary  play  out. 
Oh,  me,  what  a  farce  it  all  is,  at  the  best,  ^d  I  am  so 
young,  and  life  is  so  long — so  long!" 

Slit;  leaned  against  the  window,  and  her  thoughts  went 
hack  to  just  such  moonlight  nights  gone  never  to  come  again. 
Nights  when  he  had  been  by  her  side,  down  in  the  leafy  ar- 
cades of  Lyndith  Court,  in  far-away  Staffordshire,  and  life 
had  seemed  more  beautiful  and  blissful  than  a  fairy  tale, 
or  an  Arabian  leg^end.  Again  she  could  see  him,  tall,  strong, 
beautiful,  with  man's  best  beauty;  again  his  arm  was  about 
her — again  his  voice  in  her  ear. 

"He  true  to  me,  Olivia;  trust  me  through  p.Il  things — for 
better,  for  worse;  and,  as  surely  as  heaven  shines  above  us, 
I  will  come  back  to  claim  you." 

And  she  had  promised  and 

"The  five  minutes  have  expired,  Olivia,"  say  the  pitiless 
tones  of  Geoffrey  Lyndith,  close  beside  her;  "is  it  to  be  yes 
or  no  ?" 

She  turned  around  and  lifted  in  the  gaslight  a  face  sr. 
deathlike,  eyes  so  d^m  and  lifeless,  that  even  he  shrank 
away. 

''Tt  is  yee.  Uncle  Geoffrey,  and  may  Heaven  forgive  vou, 
I  never  will." 

'■'You  are  hysterical.  Olivia — I  pardon  your  wild  wordc. 
You  promise,  if  I  restore  to  you  your  child,  to  marry  S-c 
Vane  Charteris?"  ^ 

"T  ])romise !"  '■ 

The  words  dropped  lik-  ice  ^rom  her  lips.  He  held  out 
h5<i  hand,  looking  at  her  .iiieasily. 

*Tt  is  1  jdmpact  between  us — you  will  i<:eeT>  Vout  woi'd, 
Olivia?" 

She  drew  back  from  hi?  extended  hand  with  a  gesture  ot 
inviescribable  repulsion. 

'*!  will  never  shake  hands  with  you  again  as  long  as  1  iire, 
and  will  keep  my  word.  Hive  you  not  said  we  L.vndirhH  ql- 
wuvs  do  that  1  could  te'-  -^Xj  of  2  proini-:e  1  made  'wo 
years  ngo  that  1  am  oreaifoa  or»vv.  out  you  would  sii. v  ''ash 
piomises  made  to  yeomen^  -;on?  u'e  better  broken  than  kept. 
Are  you  quita  sure.  Mr  iciiia    /ou  will  keep  you'   oledtye 

tome?" 


((•|! 


•M 


U 


In  the  Waiting- Roon? 


"On  my  sacred  honor.    And  now  I  must  srmt  Josephba:' 
to  the  Grantee,   and   there   will    be  barely    time  to  ^et  our 
tiek(-ts  hef<jre  the  tram  comes. '' 

lie  hns<riu'(|  out.  Miss  L.vndith  at  once  crossed  ilie  wait- 
^ny-rooni  to  \vli(>re  Duke  Mason  still  stood  unseen. 

"I  am  ^<)in{\  with  aiy  uncle,"  slic  said,  hurriedly;  'there  is 
no  alti-niativc,  Wh.it . /er  hapj^cns,  with  all  my  heart  I  thank 
you."  *  .  . 

She  took  liis  hand  in  both  her  own,  and  looked  steadily  up 
in  his  honest,  homely  face. 

"You  have  a  home,  a  wife,  mother,  sister,  perhaps?    Tell 


me. 


?» 


n 


"F  have  a  home,  sucli  as  it  is,  and  a  sister  to  keep  it — ye 

The  lar^e,  dark  eyes  still  searched  his  face,  the  soft, 
patrician  fin^-ers  stiil  clasped  his  own. 

"You  have  a  good  face,  an  honest  face,  and  a  kind,  loyal 
heart,  I  know.  If  it  is  ever  in  your  power,  Mr.  Mason,  I 
v.'onder  if  you  would  aid  me  again  ^" 

"As  freely  as  I  hav(>  aided  you  to-night,  madam." 

"Then — I  have  your  address,  you  know — if  T  ever  send  for 
you — if  I  send  for  you  soon — will  you  come  to  me,  no  matter 
how  strange  it  n:{;y  seem?" 

"T  will  come!" 

She  lifted  his  hand  ai.d  kissed  it.  Mr.  Marmaduke  Mason 
hliislied  crimson  under  his  sallow  skin,  and  absolutely  tried 
to  draw  it  away. 

"tr^iod  gracious!"  he  thought,  "if  Tiosanna  could  only  see 
this." 

'  Don't  let  hiln  see  you;  he  may  suspect,  and  I  thank  you 
with  all  my  soul." 

She  left  him.  ^fr.  Lyndith  strode  in  and  went  to  the 
ticket-ofllice,  and  on  tlie  instant  the  train  came  shrieking  in. 

"Come,  Olivia." 

He  drew  her  rapidly  with  him  into  a  first-class  compavt- 
nicnt.  Duke  modestly  traveled  second-class,  and  took  his 
place,  too. 

Thc^re  was  a  shriek,  a  clanging  bell,  and  awa."  the  "resonant 
steam  ea.de"  rushed  through  the  blue  English  night,  and 
Speckhavon  lay  like  a  place  in  a  dream  behind  them.  It 
was  .Jl  over,  and  he  was  going  back  to  London  to  the  Royal 
Waterloo  Britannia,  to  Bloomsbury,  and  Eosanna  and  his 
old,  humdrum,  commonplace  life,  and  oiTly  the  yellow  gleam 
of  the  opal  on  his  finger  was  left  to  remind  him  that  his. 
Btrange  adventure  of  this  night  was  not  all  t»  dream.     . 


;.,  '■".?»  ^     *"v  •>  ■   - 


CPIAPTKR  V 


ROBERT      H  A  W   K  S  I,  i:  V  . 

On  the  first  of  April,  in  the  year  of  griU'<'  1S47,  the  slcam- 
Iship  Land  of  Columbia  sailcfl  from  New  York  to  Liverpool, 
bearing  many  passengers  to  the  British  shores.  The  rua 
was.  an  uneommonly  swift  and  pleasant  one — not  a  single 
storm  came  to  disturb  them,  or  bring  the  denujn  of  sensieii- 
ness  info  their  midst,  from  the  time  they  steamed  out  of 
New  York  Bay,  until  tlupy  sighted  the  eliifs  (tf  Albican. 

"You  arc  the  only  'heavy  swell'  we  have  had,  my  lord," 
the  eaptain  said  to  one  of  his  [lassengers.  "We  have  made 
the  best  run  of  the  year.  We  will  weigh  anchor  this  evening 
in  the  Mersey." 

"Well,"  the  gentleman  addressed  made  answer,  "I  am  sorry 
to  hear  it.  J  never  feel  so  mneh  in  my  element  as  I  do  at 
sea.  1  believe  an  All-Wise  Providence  originally  cut  me  out 
for  an  old  salt,  and  by  some  mistake  I  was  born  Baron 
Montalien  instead.  It's  the  old  story,  captain;  the  round 
pegs  go  into  the  s(iuare  holes,  and  vice  versa.  As  afirst- 
ehiss  seamarj,  I  might  have  been  of  some  use  in  my  genera- 
tion— as  it  is — --"  His  lordship  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
sauntered  awaj'. 

Nugent  Horatio  Earlseourt,  Baron  Mon  alien,  had  been 
making  an  American  tour  incognito  as  "Mr.  Earlseourt"  for 
the  past  nine  months,  and  had  almost  enjoyed  himself .  He 
had  hunted  buffaloes,  and  had  a  shot  or  two  at  hostile  bands 
of  Indians,  and  found  life  a  good  deal  less  of  a  bore  than 
he  had  done  any  time  these  last  twenty  years.  He  was  fifty 
years  old  now,  and  there  were  many  silver  threads  in  his 
dark  hair;  he  was  unutterably  patrician-looking,  with  the 
broad  brow,  the  handsome,  classical  nose,  the  determined 
mouth,  hereditary  in  his  race. 

Lord  Montalicn  had  drawn  near  a  solitary  figure,  leaning 
against  the  bulwarks,  and  gazijig  with  an  intensity  quite  re- 
markable in  the  direction  whence  England  lay,  gazing  so 
absorbed  that  he  never  heard  the  approaching  footsteps. 

"Here's  that  fellow  Hawksley,  now."  the  peer  thought, 
with  a  sudden  sense  of  injury;  "how  thoroughly  in  earnest 
he  seems,  how  intensely  anxious  to  get  home!  I  suppos© 
Kngland  is  his  home."  •"  ; 

"Hawksley!''  he  laid  his  small,  sliaixdy  hand — ^like  a 
woman's — oij  the  jhoulder  of  the  man  who  sto"-^  ^T./irir-  f^x 
the  sunlit  eea  aiuTskj. 


36 


Robert  Hawksley. 


I;!:!'^ 


'^'im 


M 


iiiii'ii 


The  man  started  '.  'c  'as  a  young:  man,  some  five- and- 
twenty,  perhai-s,  very  tall,  very  fair,  very  good-looking. 
More  tlian  {Aood-looking,  v/iili  l>rilliant  blue  eyes,  sapijhire 
biiu;  to  iiic;.  v(  ly  lufili-;  iu;.uri,iiil  fhestnut  beard  and  hair, 
ai'.U  a  lair  lui^lish  skin,  tMiiiicd  };ul(kMj  bnjvn. 

Anidiig  all   bis   ItllowiJisscngers   acroj^s,   the   only   one   i-i 
V'hom  Lord  Montalien  liad  deigned  to  take  the  slightest  iu 
tcrost  was  this  young  nuui. 

'ilii.s  youTig  man,  who  wore  a  rough,  shabby  coat,  a  felt 
hat,  i-vd  who  wa^  too  poor  to  travel  in  the  lirst  cabin. 

Iliri  nan:e  on  tiie  passenger  list  w:i«  Kobert  Ilawksley;  he 
v,-;is  a  returned  Englishman,  who  had  spent  tlie  last  two 
years  in  roughing  it  in  the  Western  States;  and  who,  judg- 
ing by  ap|>eari"iees,  had  ;:ut  made  his  fortune.  Since  he 
•  had  con*'-  on  l-uard  at  New  Vork,  an  intense,  a  sickening 
longing  I'j  roach  Engl.'Ui.l  p.issessed  him.  He  seemed  una))i<3 
ci'her  to  eat  or  sleep.  At  night,  when  the  midnight  stars 
slmne  over  the  purple  so,  he  jja'-ed  the  d(H'k,  hour  after  hour, 
ev(  r  gazing  toward  wdiere  JOngland  lay,  with  a  burning  hun- 
ger of  impcitience  in  his  eyes.  lie  was  u  self-contained  man, 
who  said  little  to  those  about  him,  and  this  very  reticence 
and  (piietude  first  drew  the  nobleman  toward  him.  lie  sought 
to  nudvc  no  acquaintances — he  was  modest  and  unassuming 
to  an  unusual  degi*ee,  and  Lord  Montalien,  who  kept  sundry 
very  wealthy  fellow-passengers  at  a  safe  distance,  and  who 
knew  every  sailor  on  board  by  luimc,  was  on  the  most  friendly 
footing  with  Robert  llavvksley.  If  he  liad  sought  to  force 
his  confidejice  or  companionship  upon  him.  his  lordship 
would  have  sent  him  to  Coventry  in  three  minutes,  but  he 
never  did.  He  talked  to  my  lord,  when  my  lord  desired  it. 
and  if  he  were  passed  by  minoticed,  he  did  not  seem  t'.  care 
one  whit.  He  was  so  thoroughly  xndepen  lent,  and  manly, 
and  simple,  that  his  grave  dignity  always  commanded  re- 
spect. 

"Well,  Mr.  Hawksley,'-  .:is  lordship  said,  "we  are  ahnost 
there  at  last." 

'*At  ia^t!"  The  young  man  drew  a  long  breath,  a  lonj?, 
eager  sigh.  ^ 

"You  say  that  as  though  we  had  been  a  month  out,  and 
yet  we  have  had  a  remarkably  speedy  passage.  You  are  very 
anxious  to  arrive?" 

"Very  anxious;  the  nassage  has  been  intolerably  slow  to 
me.  and  yet — and  vet-  perhaps,  i  had  much  bettei  ao;  havt 
ec-me  -^t  ail"   . 

"Tliat  depends.  Vou  na^/*  immbers  oi  iriends,  at  aouLi, 
whi  will  rejoice  to  irreet  -oi/  jiter  two  seoxst  absoui^-'' 


some  five- and- 

good-looking. 

eyes,  sapphire 

)oar(l  and  hair, 

I. 

e   urdy   one  m 
le  idightest  in- 

xy  coat,  a  feifc 
cabin. 

llawksley;  he 
tlic  last  two 
nd  wlio,  judic- 
Hc.  Since  jie 
',  a  sickening 
jccnied  una))io 

lichli.L^'llt    ;-{;,rs 

ur  after  hour, 
burning  hun- 
Hitained  man, 
.'t-ry  reticence 
n.    lie  sought 
1  unassuniing 
)  kept  sundry 
ice,  and  who 
:nost  friendly 
ight  to  force 
his-    lordship 
utes.   but  he 
desireri  it. 
seem  t'   eare 
and  manly, 
mianded   re- 
are  almost 
ath,  a  long, 

tb  out.  and 
ou  are  very 

bly  slow  to 
ei  ao;  have 

.  lit  aoub«:. 


Robert  '■  ^wksley. 


27 


The  ywunj?  man  looked  at  him  with  those  wonderful  blue 
I  Byes,  and  then  away  at  the  goiden  light  oi    tiie  sea. 

"I  have  no  friends,  my  lord — none.  There  la  l)nt  one  in 
ail  Kngland  who  cares  for  me,  and  she  must  be  either  moi-e 
lor  U'ss  than  a  friend." 

"Oh!  1  see! — a  'lady  in  the  case/  as  they  say  in  Irish 
!  duels.  Tlien  you  come  home  for  a  britle;  that  is  the  cause 
of  all  this  burning  impatience.  My  lad,  I  congratulate  you 
-I  remember  bein?  young  once  myself,  and  it  was  very 
nice.  And,  no  doubt,  the  young  lady  counts  the  liours  even 
more  impatiently  than  you  do." 

*'No!"  said  Kcbert  llawksley;  "she  does  not  even  know  I 
I  am  coming." 

"What!  You  did  not  write  and  tell  her?  You  wisK  to 
[give  her  a  melodramatic  surprise,  I  supposed' 

"I  have  never  written  to  her,  my  lord.  During  th^»  t\v? 
years  1  have  been  roughing  it  out  there  on  the  prairies 
I  have  never  had  9.  line  from  her,  nor  from  any  one  in  Kng- 
land. She  does  not  even  know  that  1  am  alive.  She  is  far 
above  me.  Lord  Montalien,  in  rank,  but  two  yeari^  ago  she 
loved  me." 

''And  you  are  going  back,  and  you  expect  to  find  her  un- 
changed," the  nobleman  said,  with  a  compassionate  smile. 

Robert  llawksley  looked  at  him  with  an  angry  flash  of  his 
blue  eyes. 
^  "She  was  my  wife,"  he  said,  haughtily. 

"Oh!  your  wife.  Well,  that's  different,  you  see.  A  man 
may  expect  fidelity  from  his  wife,  with  some  show  ot  reason. 
And  you  have  never  written  to  her  in  two  years.  Hasn't 
tliat  been  a  little  oversight  on  your  part,  my  dear  boy?" 

"It  would  have  l>een  useless.  I  have  told  you,  ni>  lonl, 
ahe  is  far  above  me  in  station,  and  her  uncle,  her  gn Indian, 
would  permit  no  letters  of  mine  tx)  reach  her.  T  know  him 
well  enough  for  that." 

"Indeed!    Yours  was  a  clandestine  marriage,  then    I  take 

it  r , 

"It  was.  Poor  child — I  did  wrong,  I  auppose — ^he  waa 
only  sixteen,  I  twenty-two;  she  an  heiress,  and  of  as  proud  a 
family  as  any  in  England,  and  I — a  nobody  I  But  we  loved 
each  other,  and  for  four  months  were  happy — were  in 
heaven/' 

"Then  I  don't  say  you  have  dcme  so'verv  badly  with  your 
life,  after  all,"  Lord  Mor;*alien  remarked.  "There  are  some 
of  us  who  go  through  tV-  world,  and  don't  find  four  days- 
four  hours  of  perfe(!t  bliss.  And  the  flinty  hearted  uncle 
wouldn^  be  reasonabk,  and  accept  the  luevuabi*'.^    He  tort 


nu-  .w- 


v_^ 


28 


Robert  Hawkslev. 


1r  li^ 


!(' 


!>!:i. 


'I '  * 


his-  mVer    aw:iy.  and   >()U   bcciiinc 
aro  going  buck — ina.y  I  ask — wli.y  ? 


an    exile 


A; 


)'./    a<)'^'  \v. 


'Jo    ('!:ii;:i    n:y    wife,    in    spite    of    liini — U)    fcfcf     'icr    !< 


Aniericju  it'  she  will   (m)1ii(\     1  can  give  h(;r   a  1 


lonu 


tl 


ii^re 


I) 


not  Kueli  lis  s)ie  has  been  aeenstoiiM*!  to,  hut  11"  she  Icves  ii 
as  she  J.id,  she  will  he  hai)i)ier  with  nie  in  a  (rottage  tl^a 
without  me  in  a  iialaee." 
.  "Ii!"  liord  Montalien  n^peated,  halt'  c.Vnieally,  half  sadly, 
"i;  she  loves  you  as  she  did,  Robert  Hawkskjy.  And  she  ha." 
had  t  vvo  years  to  forget  you!  Well,  well.  She  is  your  wile; 
I  will  not  say  a  word,  and  1  hope — yes,  my  lad,  I  hoj)e  you 
will  find  her  an  exeeption  to  her  sex,  and  true,  and  tender, 


il  read: 


fi- 


lth 


th( 


ds  of  th 


[h 


uttermost 

Bnf^  remember  this,  my  boy,"  his  hand  fell  kindly  on  tne 
young  man's  shoulder — "if  you  ever  need  a  friend,  and  1 
>au  helj)  you,  eonie  to  me.  1  never  forget  any  one  whom  I 
once  fancy,  and  I  fancy  you.  Come  to  me,  and  command 
me  in  any  way  you  please." 

He  gave  him  a  card,  with  his  title,  and  "Montalien  Priory. 
Lincolnshirt\  and  Gaunt  8treet,  London/'  engraved  upon  it, 
an  i  sauntered  away. 

Karly  next  day  the  passengers  of  the  Land  of  Columhid 
were  safely  in  Liverpool.  Lord  iMontalien  shook  hands  with 
Robert  Ifawksley  on  the  quay,  without  one  tinge  of  con- 
descension or  patronage. 

^^Remember,  ITawksley,  if  I  can  ever  be  of  service  to  you, 
come  to  me.    1  will  help  you  if  I  can." 

And  ivlr.  Ifawksley  had  said,  "Thank  yea,  my  lord;  I  will 
remember."  And  so  they  hatl  parted,  and  how  was  either  to 
dream  that  that  promise  involved  the  future  lives  of  the  two 
dearest  to  them  both? 

There  was  an  hour  to  spare  before  the  train  })y  whic.-h  the 
young  man  meant  to  travel  to  London  would  start.  Ke 
turned  into  a  coH'eehouse,  ordered  his  breakfast,  and  whi'a 
he  waited,  took  up  a  greasy  paper,  lying  on  the  table.  It 
was  a  copy  of  the  London  Aforning  Fost  three  days  old,  but 
the  returned  Knglishman,  to  .vhom  English  papers  were  as 
rare  as  angels'  visits,  read  it  with  avidity.  He  was  reading.': 
the  fasliloiiable  intelligence,  who  w^ere  party-going,  party 
giving,  wlu»  was  presented  at  the  last  drawing-room,  who 
were  being  married,  and  to  whom.  And  in  thia  list  he  came 
upon  the  following  paragraph: 

"The  marriage  of  Sir  Yane  Charteris,  secretary  of  legutio' 
to  Vienna,  to  Miss  Olivia  Lyndlth,  of  Lyndith  Court,  St'il 
fordshire,  niece  of  Geoffrey  Lyndith,  Esq.,  so  lonar  pr  itponed 
an  accouut  of  tii«  young  la(b''s  ill-health,  is  positively  iixed 


IJ 


■"'1 

r"l 
ill 

inoi 

in] 

Isffl 
be 
th( 


«bri 


Robert  Hawksley. 


29 


P.T)^ 


/    ci'iw    y^i)!' 


hoiiK    tluin; 
i'  she  Icvcs  im 

ly,  half  sjidly  . 
,  And  sh(.'  liij- 
i  is  your  wife; 
id,  I  li<>j)e  you 
10,  and  toudiT, 
:s  of  the  oartli. 
kiiuJly  on  tin- 
friend,  and  I 
y  one  whom  ! 
and  coniniarui 

itaiien  Priory, 
raved  upon  it, 

?  of  Colamhia 
ok  hands  with 
tinge   of  con- 

lervlce  to  you, 

lord ;  I  will 
was  either  to 

■  es  of  the  two 

)y  which  the 
d  start.  He 
•t,  and  whilt 

le  tahle.  It 
days  old,  but 
il)ers  were  as 

was  readini.-: 
foinj?,   party 
g-rooni,    who 

list  he  came 


y   of  l(';4;itio' 

Court,  St'ii- 
14?  pr  ;tpon<'(i 


fni  he  fourtrenth  of  the  prf^sent  month.  Inr  '  (lately  alter 
the  hoiic.\tnooT'  which  is  to  he  sjiciit  in  Italy,  Sir  Vane  and 
l.ady  CiiarteM."«  depart    for  the  hriltianl    Vieiiii'  't  Court." 

Rohert  Ilawksley  read  this  parajjjraph,  and  read  it  af^ain — • 
[slowly,  j)ainfully,  with  a  face  from  which  «'vei\v  drop  of  blood 
iKiircIy  receded,  lie  he'd  the  paper  before  him,  his  eyes  dilat- 
linjr,  his  face,  his  li|»s  turning'  to  the  hue  of  aslu's.  So  word, 
jno  exclamation  escaped  liim ;  he  sal  as  rigid  as  a  "nan  turn- 
ing to  stone,  'ihe  waiter  brought  liim  his  breakfast,  a-nd 
[stared  at  liim  aghast.'  He  spokti  io  him — he  did  not  hear; 
he  tou(\Lied  liini,  and  a  pair  of  sightless  eyes  looked  uj)  from 
[the  paj)er. 

" 'Kre's  your  brekwist,  sir — hany think  helse,  sir?"  Hut 
[the  words  fell  on  duH  ears.  "BlesstMl  if  1  don\  think  he's 
[going  to  'ave  a  fit!"  thought  the  waiter,  and  left  him. 

Kobert  Hawksley  sat  there,  and  read  again,  ard  again,  that 
[brief,  eommonplaee  paragraph  in  the  Morning  Post.  Wait- 
lers  and  customers*  stared  alike  in  wonder  at  the  young  man, 
[who  sat  with  his  untaste<l  breakfast  before  him,  and  with 
[that  rigid,  awfull.y  corpselike  fae«'. 

He  rose  at  last,  and  laid  down  the  paiKT.  The  waiter  ap- 
proached, and  he  demanded  his  bill,  lie  had  touched  notli- 
ing,  but  he  paid  it  at  once,  and  without  a  word  walked  out 
I  of  the  house. 

The  bright  April  sun  was  shining,  the  streets  were  alive 
[with  people,  but  Robert  Hawksley,  seeing  nothing,  hearing 
nothing,  walked  blindly  on  like  a  man  in  a  dream. 

"Married!"    The  word  tolled  through  his  brain  like  a  Iwll. 
["Married  on  the  fourteenth.    And  this  is  the  thirteenth.     To- 
night I  will  be   in  London,  and  to-morrow   is  her  wedding 
iday!"    He  laughed  aloud  in  an  insane  sort  of  way,  rather  to 
the  surprise  of  the  pasf^rs-by.     "Ami   two  years  and  a  half 
jago  she  was  ray  wife.    Lord  Montalien  was  right  then,  after 
[all.     I  suppose  it  will  be  at  St.  Cieorge's,  Hanover   S(iuare. 
[Well,    1    am  "not    invited,    nor    expected,    nor,    I    dare    say, 
wanted,  but  still.  Sir  Vane  Charteris,  I  shall  go  to  your  wed- 
iding." 

An  hour  later,  and  the  exi)ress  train  was  flying  homeward, 
and  Robert  Hawksley  sat  gazing  straight  Ixfore  him  at  the 
flying  landscape  and  blue  English  sky,  witli  that  fierce  hunger 
in  his  eyes,  and  his  teeth  clenclied  hard  behind  his  auburn 
beard. 

"Married!"  That  bell  in  liis  brain  seemed  still  tolling. 
"Married  to-morrow,  to  Sir  Vane  Charlcris.  Well — when 
to-morro-w  comes,  we  will  see!" 


OfTAPTKK  VI.. 


!„,:„ 


IHlli 


\ 


-VHir   DAWN    OF    Tllli    lULllTKENTll    OF    ArrJ-. 

1.'.  w.'s  ^hr  lI.irto(Mith  of  April,  atid  late  in  the  aftoinoop. 
Suiisliine  iiooded  the  (piiet  strec^ts  of  lilooinsbury,  and  the 
windows  of  Ilalf-Aloon  Torracc,  liappening  to  face  westward, 
w^re  ail  allaiuo  with  the  golden  Hyht  of  the  sky,  a  sky  as 
hlnc  as  thou^li  Ilalf-Jiloou  Terrace  wore  in  Venice  instead 
of  tlie  i)arish  of  Bloomshury,  London,  It  was  an  arc  of 
dreary  brick  boxes,  and  liad  only  one  side  of  the  way,  the 
other  Ix'in^'  nicws.  And  in  the  particular  brick  box  where 
Mr.  Duke  Mason  had  set  up  his  household  jrods,  he  had  a 
eliiiiincy-swrc'p  for  neighbor  in  the  attic,  and  a  lame  cob- 
bler, who  kept  a  shop  on  the  first  floor.  Mr.  Mason's  domicile 
consistc<l  of  four  diminutive  rooms,  a  kitchen,  with  a  bed- 
room off  for  his  sister  and  housekeeper,  a-i)arlor,  with  ditto 
f((r  himself,  and  a  dreary,  unplastered  apartment,  also  open- 
ing off  the  parlor,  which  sfcrved  hiin  as  a  studio;  for  Duke 
was  an  artist,  as  you  have  been  told — scenic  artist,  his  little 
sij^Mi  ov(  r  the  door  informed  you — assistant  scene-paiutcr  to 
the  Royal  Waterloo  Britannia.  He  was  also  second  violinist, 
he  likewise  went  on,  and  i)layed  a  witch  in  Macbeth,  Second 
Orave-Dig'g'er,  etc.,  and  such  powerful  casts.  Beinp  an  adoi)t 
in  the  French  lanpua^e,  he,  moreover,  adapted  the  plays  of 
that  nation,  diluting  tJiem  with  insular  virtue,  and  straininf^ 
the  French  morality  a  good  deal,  in  order  to  suit  British 
stomachs.  I  To  also  painted  portraits  when  he  got  them  to 
paint,  so  that  you  perc.'ive  Mr.  Mason  was  a  gentleman  oi 
brilliant  parts  and  great  versatility  of  talent. 

rie  stands  in  his  painting-room  this  sunny  April  afternoon, 
hard  at  work  on  a  huge  square  that  occupies  all  one  side  of 
the  room,  and  he  is  standing  on  a  ladder,  putting  in  skies 
and  backgrounds.  Close,  it  looks  one  huge  chaos  of  rubies 
an<l  purples,  and  ultramarine  and  gold  leaf — from  the  door- 
way it  looks  like  a  grotto  set  in  golden  sands,  and  in  a  strong 
lime  light  will,  no  doubt,  come  out  in  dazzling  splendor  to 
the  eyes  of  the  frociucnters  of  the  Britannia. 

In  the  parlor  adjoining,  the  shabbiest  and  niost  spotlessly 
neat  of  parlors,  sits  sewing  Miss  Rosanna  Mason.  She  is  a 
lady  of  that  age  which  is  delicately  mentioned  as  uncertain" 
she  is  fifteen  years  the  Duke's  j;enior,  and  Duke  is  five-and- 
twenty.  She  is  tall  and  spare,  .;;4  uaiden  ladles  usually  arc; 
she  has  high  cheek  bones,  and  th-ii  lips,  and  deep-set  eyes, 
and  a  Roman  nose,  and  a  tremendous  frontal  development; 


The  Dawn  of  the  Fourteenth  oi  nprfl.    31 


IZL. 

the  aitoinoon. 
ibury,  aiui  the 
lace  westward, 

sky,  a  sky  as 
k\niii'C  instead 
v&H  ail  arc  of 
■  the  way,  tiie 
ick  box  where 
rods,  he  had  a 
d  a  lame  cob- 
ison's  domicile 
1,  with  a  bed- 
lor,  with  ditto 
ent,  also  opeii- 
dio;  for  Duke 
rtist,  his  little 
eiie-paiutcr  to 
coiid  violinist, 
icbeth,  Second 
Jeing  an  adept 
i  the  plays  of 

and  straining 
)  suit  British 
i  got  them  to 

gentleman  oi 

)ril  afternoon. 
11  one  side  of 
ting  in  skie> 
aos  of  rubies 
rom  the  door- 
id  in  a  strong 
splendor  to 

ost  spotlessly 
in.  She  is  a 
IS  uncertain 
0  is  five-and- 
usually  arc; 
leep-set  eyes, 
development; 


ind  her  hair.  whi<'h  i-s  of  tl.f  h\u-  called  *.nndy,  's  tightly 
)inned  in  a  little  knot  at  the  li;;ck  of  her  head,  lli  r  <ircsH, 
>ld  and  faded,  is  daintily  clean,  us  is,  indL-^'d,  everything 
i!)'.>ut  her.  except,  perhaps,  pMike,  whom  she  luvcs,  and  prays 
fer,  and  tyianni^.os  over  as  -onie  women  do  over  the  mcu 
(l.ey  like  be^t, 

'i'lic  afternoon  nun  dropped  low  —  Miss  ^^a>^l)n  Khni''''»g  out 
It  til'  crimson,  {.'oldeii  radi;inct>  yonder  in  the  west,  opim^d 
[lint  it  was  almost  tinui  to  go  and  get  tea.  Duke  must  de- 
).irt  for  the  "regions  of  darkness,"  as  she  always  thought  of 
[he  P>ritannia,  at  half-past  six,  and  tiio  i)antaiooii  •  w<M"e 
lone.     S!ic  glanced  at  their  wearer,  and  her  grim  face  gr(>w 

sii:i(l(^  more  grim. 

"At   it  again,"  thought  Miss  ^Nfason;  "he's  arowing  worse* 
[\(Myydiy." 

Duke  was  not  doing  anything  very  wrong — in  fact,  ho 
^as  not'  doing  anything  at  ail.  lie  sat  piTchcd  on  the  top 
>f  the  ladder,  his  brushes  and  palette  uinised,  staring  very 
i.ird  at  nothing,  and  whistling  a  pensive  accompaniment  to 
nis  thoughts.  It  was  quite  a  new  habit  of  liis.  this  day- 
^li'oaming,  a  habit  contracted  since  his  late  visit  to  T.incoln- 
hire.  That  was  over  three  weeks  agt)  now,  and,  as  his  sister 
feaid  to  herself,  he  grew  worse  every  day.  lie  had  not  aaid 
P  word,  as  you  may  suppose,  of  the  adventure  of  the  night 
^»f  the  twenty-fifth  of  j\larch — very  f(nv  ])eoide  feit  tempted 
%o  pour  the  story  of  their  follies  into  the  vestal  ear  (^f 
Kosanna,  and  he  had  hidden  the  opal  ring  deep  in  the  re- 
<'  -SOS  of  his  pocketbook.  He  had  told*  nobody  of  that 
fri  range  adventure,  and  he  had  contracted  a  custom  of  think- 
iii._^  about  it  a  great  deal.  Just  at  present  he  wtis  v^'omlering 
h^w  the  young  lady's  escajie  had  come  to  bo  discovered  so 
Fj-tcdily — it  was  the  missing  key  did  it,  no  doubt. 

It  liad  been  the  missing  key.  Mrs.  Orimshaw  hnd  fo\iiid 
herself  unable  to  sleep  that  night  on  account  of  it.  Had 
Jlie  spirit  of  the  slain  cavalier  whisked  it  off,  or  liad  Miss 
Lyndith  anything  to  do  with  it?  After  tossing  several  hours, 
Vfrs.  CJrimshaw  grev/  desperate — got  up — stole  to  the  young 
lady's  chamber  to  see  that  all  was  safe.  The  door  was  \m- 
jncked,  the  I'cd  unslept  in,  the  young  lady  gone.  Half  an 
lour  after,  ?.lr.  Lyndith  was  tearing  along  to  the  station  in 
■earch  of  his  ward. 

"Tf  J.  T.  Quill  got  hold  of  the  story  heM  work  it  up  in  a 
five-act  melodrama,  and  make  his  fortune,"  thought  Duke. 
I'M.  .T.  has  done  all  the  dramas  they've  pla.ved  at  the  Britannia 
for  thei  last  fourteen  years,  except  what  I've  cooked  over 
From    the  French.'      She   said   if   she  ever   needed   me,    sh« 

)uld  Bend  for  me  again ;  I  hope  she  won't.    Bosanna  might 


'iiP 


ilii 


ji, 
ill 


32    The  Dav'*^  of  the  Fourteenth  of  ApH* 

fiii<l  It  out,  l»nt.  ^iifn,  T  would  liko  to  soe  hor  otjoo  mffiVi 
llow  li;iii(lsnin«'  slio  looked,  HtandinjJf  up  there,  and  d('fy'"K 
thnt  old  Turk,  her  uiirle!" 

Mr.' Mnson  tniconscioiisly  a?<suiiiO(j  a  dt'flaiit  attitude  him 
solf,  ns  )io  thoii^lit  it.     ^fiss  Mason  saw  hir!i  and  laid  down 
her  work. 

'Duke,"  Jiis  sister  said,  in  a  deep  Lass. 

Duke  started  to  his  usual  position,  and  laid  h(dd  of  his 
brushes  in  some  trepidation.  It  wasn't  likely  his  sister  eonjtl 
read  liis  thouf^hts,  hut  Duke  wouldn't  be  ve?-y  much  surprise! 
to  find  that  she  eould. 

"Duke!"  repeated  Miss  Mason,  in  her  deepest  tones,  "ho 
there  he  an  end  of  this.    Tell  ine  what  it  means,"" 

"And  end  of  what.  Rosanna?  Do  you  mean  thi«  scene ^ 
Well,  I'm  hrinying-  it  to  an  end  as  fast  as  T  can.  I  supi)OMo 
those  hi/j:  fellows  do  niake  a  mess,  hut  there's  no  lielp  for  it. 
As  to  wluif.  it  Tueans,  it's  the  Orotto  of  the  Venus  Afiiirodite, 
and  the  i»ieee  it's  for  is  a  new  thinpr,  and  will  make  Tinsel  A' 
Spanjjfle,  if  anything  will.'' 

Mr.  Miison  dashed  in  his  skies  and  clouds  energetically, 
f<«<'linfj:  fjuiltily,  all  the  while,  that  his  accusing  an^(.'l  in  th  • 
tvirlor  was  about  to  brings  him  to  book. 

"T  don't  want  to  hear  about  your  Coral  Caves  and  your 
Venus  thinpfamies,  Duke  jMason,"  his  sister  retorted,  sternly; 
"it  is  bad  enough  to  know  such  sinful  things  exist,  and  that 
my  own  brother  is  riskinp:  his  eternal  welfare  amon^  them. 
T  want  to  know  what  you  mean  by  that  odious  habit  you 
have  contracted  of . sitting"  for  hours  and  staring;  at  nothing, 
like  an  idiot.  It  means  something — don't  tell  mc,  sir— I 
know^  better!" 

"Then  I  suppose  it  means  laziness,  Rosanna,"  Duke;  an- 
swered, good-humoredly. 

"It  means  more  than   laziness,  though  that's  bad  enough 
You   know   what    the  j)ious   and  wise  Dr.  Watts  says:     'In 
Works  of  labor  and  of '" 

"Oh,  dear!  Yes,  Rosanna,  I  know;  don't  repeat  it," 
groaned  Duke. 

"But  it  isn't  bi/.iness;  its  worse,  Duke!"  in  her  crudest 
voice.     "Don't  i)revarieate  to  me.     You  hav^e  fallen  in  love." 

If  Mistt  Mason  liad  said,  and  truthfully,  "you  have  com- 
mitted a  murder,"  her  brother  eould  hardl.y  have  looked 
more  alarn!ed  arid  guilty.  Was  it  love,  to  be  haunied  by 
day  and  by  night  by  one  beautiful  face,  to  wear  an  opa^ 
ring  in  a  poeketbook.  and  have  a  secret  hidden  from  an  otilv 
sistiM'?     Guik  was  l.here,  and  guilt  told. 

"T  see  T  am  right,"  Rosan-na  said,  after, a  tlirilling  paup.: 
^'^Duke,  who  [  ■.  the  young  woman  ?" 


Dawn  of  the  Fourteenth  of  April.    }) 


'T'poii  my  word,  Uosnniui,  1fi»n»  i-*  no  younji:  wfuniui.  Tluit 
18.  there  isn't — she  ihu^sn't  —  I  iiitan " 

Rn>j'ima  shook  her  head  hittcM'ly. 

"Tliaf  sounds  very  pl.iusihlo,  no  doul>t.  luother  Uuk.',  hut 
it  d(to>n't  deceive  me.  'There  isn't,  -he  «loe>n't,'  indeed! 
Oh.  I>nk<'.  hnve  I  hrou^ht  you  up  f(}  this  time  of  (hiy.  and 
iiHtilh'd    f,he  eafcelii^m    into   yon.   only    to   ^i^i^   yon    <'oiin'    to 


lid  h(d<J  of  hi-i 
ids  sistiM-  eouli! 
nuch  surprise!    ^   next  you  will  want  to  jret  married!    1>uke!  1  e<Mnniand  you — 


thi>^    'I'lie  theatre  was  had  enonph.  hut   to  fall  in  love!     An<l 


la,"   Dnk(;  an- 


who  is  the  Inissy? 


'^'I'liere's  no  hns-^y  in  the  ease,  aoH  I'm  not  in  love,  and  T 
don't  want  to  u(>t  married,  (lood  ^raeions!  Kn-<anna,  what 
crime  will  ynn  suspect  a  fellow  of  next?  T'pon  my  word 
and  liOiioF,"  cried  Duko,  in  a  paroxy.sm  of  torture.  "1  haven't 
a  notion  of  ^cttin^  married  now.  or  ev»»r — c)h  I  there's  th« 
po=:inian.     Don't  mind,  Kos'^nna,  I'll  ^<i." 

Duke  honneed  oi\'  his  lado'^r  and  ru-^hed  to  (he  door.  Tho 
yuistman  hande<l  him  two  let  ten*,  b<»th  addressed  to  himself. 
Ivosanna  !Mason  had  npvcr  Ix^on  puilty  of  epistolary  fnllJcM, 
any  more  than  other  follies,  in  her  life.  One  was  '"rom 
Tinsel  iV  Kpanj^le.  roprovinpr  him  sharply  for  reeeiiti  un- 
pnnetuality,  and  commandinpr  an  early  attendance  in  the 
orchestra  that  evening,  on  pain  of  a  h">\vy  fine.  Duke  tluiif* 
thi>  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  ro*.^.,  arid  i^lanced  at  the 
other.  Slippery  white  f^atin  paper,  f\  faint  odor  of  pcr- 
fiune,  a  delicate,  spidery  female  hand,  a  hlue  wax  seal,  with 
crest  and  a  motto.  .^'^  ♦^'n  blood  in  Mr.  Mason's  arteries 
rushed  into  his  face;  and  there  stood  Rosanmi- -that  frigid, 
vestal  virgin,  with  piercinpr  eyes  fixed  on  that  furiously 
blushing  face.  She  saw  his  look,  and  answered  it  with  stinji;- 
h.s:  sarcasm. 

"Oh!  don't  mind  me.  Read  your  Tetter,  by  all  means,  and 
then  tell  me,  when  T  ask  you  who  it's  from,  that  'there  isn't — 
she  doesn't' — tlwt  'there's  no  lady  in  the  ease' — and  that 
you've  'no  notion  of  being  married.'  Don't  mind  adding  a 
few  more  falsehoods  to  your  a^**»ady  overhunh'ned  con- 
sci(>nce.  Read  your  letter,  unhappy  young  man,  and  tell  me 
it's  from  those  play-actor  men,  who  emjdoy  you  in  their  god- 
less work,  if  you  dare!" 

One  glance  w.  scorn  and  sorrow  r»ombinod,  and  Miss  "Xfasou 
stalkcHJ  out  to  the  kitchcji.  With  a  sort  of  -roan  thc^  hadp;- 
ered  scene-painter  opened  the  dainty  niissi\o,  and  read: 


You  promised  to  conio  to  me  if  f  should  ever  naiit  yon  The 
time  has  come  when  it  remains  for  you  to  Iceep  that  promise. 
If  you  have  any  pity  for  an  unhappy,  fri-endless  girl,  you  will 
come,  at  three  o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  to  the  address  be< 


34   The  Dawn  of  th:.  Fourteenth  of  Ap^iil. 

tow.  Be  at  thv  nrca  pnto  at  &^{  time,  an<1  voti  wJI!  ronfer  i 
•Jcathkss  ubli^jatioii  on  htr  wlioiii  yuu  once  so  generously 
sewed.  O.  L. 


Tlurc  was  nn  auldrcsH  at  the  bottom  of  this  note — the 
iHiniltcr  of  a  houso  in  I'jirk  lane.  And  tlir  Mo(m1  loft  Dnko's 
faro,  and  a  r<)](]  thrill  ran  thronprh  him,  as  he  thought  of  the 
drcadfnl  possiljilitios  involved.  Did  she  want  hini  to  run 
ftway  with  hor  ai;ain^  Wasn't  it  a  penal  olTonso  to  elo[)C  with 
an  Iioircss? 

lie  r(^<c,  and  pa^'cd  softly  np  and  down  the  parlor,  feeling 
like  (he  wretched  conspirator  ho  waj+.  He  could  hear 
KoHanna  hnstlinjr  ahont  the  kitchen,  the  clatter  of  cups  and 
sauecrs.  and  the  jj;('neral  prei)aration  for  tea. 

*'ril  have  to  stay  out  all  ni^ht,"  mused  Duke  "T  couldn't 
'de<'p  if  I  went  to  bed.  What  can  she  want  ^  T  thought  she 
prouii'-ed  to  marry  Sir  Vane  Charteris.  It  was  had  enouuli 
to  run  away  with  a  youn^  lady«  It  would  he  worse  to  run 
away  with  a  haronet's  wife." 

"Come  to  sui)p('r,"  called  Kosanna,  and  Duke  went  out  to 
the  kitchen,  which  was  also  the  dininj?-rooni,  meekly,  and 
with  all  his  wrongdoing  palpaldc  in  his  face.  TIow  was  he 
to  drink  weak  tea,  and  enf»pliees  oflF  a  stale  quartern,  with 
that  secret  on  his  mind,  and  that  letter  buried  in  his  pocket! 
lie  rose  after  two  or  three  gulps,  swallowed  spasmodically. 
Rosanna,  eating  with  the  powerful  ap{)etite  of  strong  virtue 
that  can  relish  weak  tea  and  stale  bread,  saw  all  his  confu- 
sion. 

"You  needn't  sit  up  for  me,  "Rosanna,"  the  artist  said,  with 
nervous  hurry.  "T  shan't  be  home  to-night.  Tinsel  &  Span- 
gle have  b(>en  blowing  me  up  ^or  laziness,  and  I  shall  work 
double  tides  to  make  up  for  it.  ^  "<hall  work  at  the  Britannia 
until  three  or  four  this  morning,  and — ah — good-evening, 
Rosannn." 

Lies  were  not  at  all  in  Duke  Mason's-  way — this  was  a 
mild  one,  but  still  it  nearly  choked  him.  And,  of  course, 
Rosanna  did  not  believe  one  word.  She  listened  and  ate  on 
in  ominous  silence,  making  no  response  to  the  fraternal  good- 
night; and  Duke  drew  a  long  breath  as  he  closed  the  street 
door  behind  him,  and  hurried  on  his  way.  A  blue,  silvery 
haze  filled  the  streets,  through  which  the  gas  lamps  twinkled. 
One  or  two  early  stars  shone  up  in  the  blue,  and  a  cloudless 
sunset  irradiated  the  town.  Duke  took  an  omnibus,  and 
reached  the  Royal  Rritannia  at  an  earlier  hour  than  he  had 
done  for  weeks,  and  Tinsel  &  Spangle  congratulated  them- 
«elves  that  their  blowing  up  had  done  their  second  violiniet 
good. 


r  Ap/ji. 


I  ric  Dawn  of  the  Fourteenth  of  April,    j? 


\  will  confer  a 
so    generously 
O.  L. 

Ma  iiotf' — the 
'h\  left  Duke's 
liou^ht  of  the 
t  bini  to  run 
2  to  elope  with 

parlor,  feeling 
D  oould  hear 
r  of  cups  and 

;     "I  couldn't 

T  thojif^ht  she 

IS  had  <'nou,uh 

worse  to  run 

e  went  out  to 

Tiiookly,  and 

7 low  was  he 

uartcM'ii,  with 

n  his  pocket! 

ipasniodically. 

strong  virtue 

nil  his  confu- 

tist  said,  with 
iirsel  &  Span- 
T  shall  work 
the  Britannia 
2ood-evcning, 

— this  was  a 
d,  of  course, 
'd  and  ate  on 
aternal  good- 
od  the  street 
hlue,  silvery 
nps  twinkled, 
d  a  cloudless 
mnibus,  and 
than  he  had 
ulated  them- 
ond  violiniet 


All  lliroUKh  the  five  o<*trt  of  tin'  niehxlraina  that  niKlit. 
l)uke'H  thoUKhtf*  w<'re  away  in  l*ark  lane,  and  lie  played 
faU'  notes,  and  Honietinies  for^rnt  to  play  alt()K<'tli<'t'.  It  wu.-* 
an  uMUf t<'ral)!e  relief  wlit-n  tin-  curtain  fell  and  the  audience 
p<»ure<l  out  into  the  starlit  night,  and  he  was  free  Ui  think 
as  \ni  pleased,  lie  turned  away  from  the  theatre,  and  hid 
feet  half  unconsciously  took  him  to  i'ark  lane. 

Two  I  by  the  numherloflH  city  st^'ples.  Duke  lit  a  cigar, 
and  sealed  hiuself  in  an  open  rtipuire,  where  the  trees  made 
loMpr  shallows  in  the  moonlit  grass,  and  the  laiaps  waxvd 
dim  in  its  silvpry  rays.  What  a  strange,  long  night  it  wad- 
Woid4  h«'  ever  forget  it — uud  how  w>U4  it  going  to  end!" 

Half-past  two!  Ho  started  up.  He  was  a  couple,  of  miles 
away  from  Park  lane — it  would  h<'  thr(H?  .when  he  reacla-d  it. 
Still  rimoking,  he  hastened  on.  The  big,  black  house  in  Park 
lane  loomed  up  l>eforc  him  as  the  clocks  tolled  three.  All 
was  dark  luid  (juiet  now.  The  string  of  carriages  had  van- 
ished— the  party  thnv  doors  off  had  broken  up  early.  Uo 
leaned  against  the  area  railings,  looking  up  at  the  tlismal, 
unlighted  mansion,  when  a  cold  hand  was  suddenly  and 
swiftly  laid  on  his.  He  started,  and  barely  suppressed  an 
exclamation;   he  had  heard  uo  sound,  yet   iiore  by  his  side 


stood  a  wonum. 
"Hush!"    said 


M 


a   voice;   "not  a  sound.     You   are   Duke 


ason 


"1  am." 

"Tell  mo  the  name  of  her  who  sent  for  you?'* 

"Olivia  Lyndith." 

"Thank  Heaven!     Come  down — tread  softly." 

He  des<*ended  tlic  area  steps,  and  stood  beside  her.  She 
was  a  tall  young  woman,  but  she  was  not  Miss  Lyndith. 

"I  am  the  child's  nurse,"  the  girl  said,  answering  that 
look.    "Take  off  your  shoes.    The  least  noise  may  betray  us." 

Duke  obeyed.  ITer  description  of  herself  was  rather  un- 
intelligible, though.  The  child's  nurse!  and  what  had  lie  to 
d(V  with  children?  Miss  Lyndith  wasn't  a  child,  by  any 
means.     What  did  she  mean? 

'i'here  was  no  time  to  ask  questions.  He  removed  his 
sh(K^,  «nd  followed  her  into  the  basement  regions,  up  a 
flight  of  steps,  and  found  himself  in  a  lofty-domed  and  car- 
peted hall.  The  moon's  rays  shone  brightly,  and  tall  marble 
statues  gleamed  like  ghosts  in  its  light.  A  great  staircase, 
carved  and  gilded,  went  up  in  majestic  sweeps  to  the  regions 
above.  A  thick,  soft  carpet  muffled  the  tread  as  Duke  fol- 
lowetr  her  to  a  second  stately  hall,  hung  with  pictures,  and 
lighted  by  a  large  Maltese  window.  Many  doors  were  on 
either  bide;  one  of  these  ahe  opened*  iQi>tioDixig  the  wonder* 


46 


The  Dawn  of  the  Fourteenth  of  April. 


iij: 


liii,,":  'ill 


\ufx  T)ukv  to  follow,  and  he  fomul  liinis(>lf  in  a  spacious  and 
elo^ant  antc-chainbcr,  tliml.v  lighted  b.v  two  wax  candlos — an 
apfli'tnicnt  more  hi.\uri(.iis  and  ))oautifnl  llian  any  thf.'  scene- 
painter  had  ever  beheld. 

"The  Coral  Caves  of  tlie  Dismal  Deep  are  very  dazzling 
alxxles,  no  doubt,"'  he  thought,  "but  for  permanence  give  me 
a  big-,  black  b.ouse  in  l*ark  lane." 

"Wait  here,"  the  i^irl  said,  laconically.  A  second  after, 
lifting  a  heavy  crimson  curtain  that  draped  an  arch,  she  let 
it  fall,  and  disappeared. 

Again  the  curtain  was  lifted  by  the  servant,  and  this  time 
!Miss  Olivia  Lyndith  herself  appeared;  Duke  rose.  She  wore 
a  llowing,  white  dressing-gown,  her  abundant  hair  hung 
loose  over  her  shoulders,  her  large  eyes  looked  bigger  and 
blacker  than  ever  in  her  small,  pale  face.  Again  she  took 
his  hand  in  l)Oth  her  own,  as  on  that  memorable  night,  when 
they  had  parted,  and  looked  at  him  with  her  dark,  solemn 
eyes. 

"I  knew  you  would  come,"  she  said.  "I  knew  I  might 
trust  you.  I  have  sent  for  you  on  a  matter  of  life  and  death 
to  me.    To-morrow — uay,  to-day — is  my  wedding  day." 

"Oh,  indeed !"  Mu.  Mason  responded,  feeling  that  politeness 
re<iuired  him  to  say  something,  and  wondering  if  young 
ladies  generally  regarded  their  wedding  days  as  matters  of 
life  and  death,  and  what  she  could  possibly  want  of  him  in 
this  state  of  aifairs. 

"I  am  surrounded  by  enemies,  who  call  themselves'  my 
friends,  and  in  whose  power  1  am.  1  am  going  to  marry  a 
man  whom  I  neither  love  nor  respect — a  man  whom  I  fear. 
For  myself,  it  does  not  so  i»uch  matter.  I  don't  care  what 
becomes  of  me" — there  was  a  desperate  recklessness  in  her 
tone  and  look  that  suited  her  words — "but  there  is  one  in 
this  house  whom  I  do  love,  w^hom  1  wish  to  save  from  the 
men  who  have  made  my  life  miserable.  It  is  a  child.  To 
obtain  possession  of  her,  I  have  promised  to  marry  the  man 
of  my  guardian's  choice.  This  very  day,  innnediately  after 
the  ceremony.  I  start  for  Italy,  and  she  retnains  behind  in 
the  power  of  (jpotfrey  T^yndith.  I  cannot  trust  him — 1  will 
not  trust  him.  ITer  life  would  be  blighted,  as  her  mother's 
has  been.  She  must  be  removed  out  of  their  knowledge  and 
out  of  their  j)ower.  That  is  why  T  have  sent  for  you;  I  have 
not  a  frie^^'.^.  I  dare  trust — they  are  all  my  uncle's  friends, 
and  her  h'.vth  is  a  dead  secret.  Will  you  take  her  away  with 
you  tf)-nigiit''!  W:'^  vou  keep  her,  and  bring  her  up  as  your 
own? — you  and  your  sister.  You  shall  he  well  paid,  and,  'f 
it  is  ever  in  n>y  power,  I  will  ilaim  hc»'.  Don't  refuse;  have 
Ditv  on  me.  her  most  wretched  mother;  have  pity  on  her,  a 


I 

4 


April. 


The  Dawn  of  the  Fourteenth  ot  April.     37 


spacious  and 
X  caiidlos — an 
luv  the  scene- 
very  dazzling 
icnce  give  mo 

second  after, 
arch,  she  let 

and  this  time 
se.  She  wore 
It  hair  hung 
d  bigger  and 
jrain  she  took 
e  night,  when 
dark,  solemn 

new  I  might 
ife  and  death 
g  day."^ 
hat  politeness 
ing  if  young 
as  matters  of 
mt  of  him  in 

lemselves'  my 
g  to  marry  a 
whom  I  fear, 
n't  care  what 
ssness  in  her 
ere  is  one  in 
ave  from  the 

a  child.  To 
arry  the  man 
idiately  after 
)is  beliind  in 
:  him— 1  will 

her  mother's 
lowledge  and 
r  you:  1  have 
icle's  friends, 
er  away  with 
r  up  as  your 

paid,  and,  'f 

refuse;  have 
ity  on  her»  « 


helpless  babe.  You  have  a  kind  heart — you  helped  me  he- 
fore.     Help  nie  now,  and  may  Heaven  reward  you!" 

She  (dung  to  his  arm — passionate  tears  stood  in  her  proud 
eyes.     \)yi\ni  stood  absolutely  transfixed. 

"You  shall  bo  well  rewarded.  Seel  here  is  this  fxx  ket- 
book;  it  contains  one  hundred  pounds,  all  I  have  now,  hut  J 
will  send  you  more.  Take  it,  take  it.  You  will  not  refuse--' 
ynu  cannot.     Wait  one  instant,  and  I  will  fetch  her." 

She  darted  away.  Duke  stood  looking  blaidxly  at  the 
lvu>sian  leather  pocketbook  in  his  hand.  A  child — her  child! 
-  his  head  v.'as  in  an  utter  whirl. 

She  came  back  in  a  moment,  holding  a  bundle  wrapix'd  in 
a  shawl  in  her  arms.  She  Hung  this- wrap  back,  as  she  came 
close  to  Duke,  and  he  saw  the  cherub  face  of  a  sieepitig 
chihl. 

"She  has  been  drugged  to  ke;^p  her  cpik't — she  will  not 
awake  for  an  hour.  See  what  a  lovely  little  ang(d  .-^he  is! 
Oh.  my  darling!  my  darling!  my  darling!"  ^ 

She  covered  the  baby  face  with  pa'<sionate  kisses.  Willi 
her  wild,  loose  hair,  her  wilder  eyes,  her  frantii;  manner,  -^he 
seemed  like  a  creature  half  distraught.  On  the  instant,  tar 
away  in  the  house,  they  all  heard  the  sound  of  an  oix'uiiig 
door.     The  servant  appeared   in  ahnni. 

"Miss  Olivia,  do  you  hear  that  ^  He  must  go.  Mr.  Lyn- 
ditli  has  the  e4jrs  of  a  cat,  and  tiie  eyes,  1  believe.  Ciive  him 
the  child,  and  let  him  go,  for  pity's  sake!" 

S!ie  absolutely  took  the  child  from  the  arms  that  pressed  it 
so  convulsively,  wrapped  the  shawd  closer  around  it,  and 
caught  Duke's  liaud. 

"Come!"  she  said;  "there's  not  a  monuwit  to  lose." 

"Be  good  to  it!  be  good  to  it!"  Miss  I.yndith  cried:  "a.-^ 
you  hojjc  for  salvatioii,  Ix?  good  to  m.i^  child." 

She  sank  down  in  a  great  carved  anJ  gilded  (diair — a  small, 
white  figure,  and,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands,  her  sup- 
pressed sobbing  tilled  the  room.  vSo  Duke's  ia-r  glance  saw 
her  as  he  (juitted  it,  T)eyond  fiiat  "Oh.  indeed!"  he  had  »iot 
spoken  a  word— -he  had  not  Ijcen  five  minnlcs  in  the  house 
altogether.  Like  one  in  a  dreamy  swoon,  he  rollowod  (he 
nurse,  through  halls  and  stairways,  until  once  more  l!iey 
stood  inider  the  stars. 

"Put  on  your  shoes,"  the  girl  saiti;  "you  will  find  a  cab- 
stand over  in  that  direction.  'J"he  baby  will  not.  :iwake  until 
y(.ni  get  home." 

She  pressed  thv'  'hild  upon  him.  He  to.ik  i(  mechanically 
— nieehanically  descended  the  area  steps,  looked  bacdc,  and 
found  the  girl  gone. 

What  was  ho  to  do  i    It  would  uever  do  to  stand  thoit  w  d 


?8      At  Stc  George's,  Hanover  Sqiiare^ 


I  ('  (iisci.vorcd  l)y  a  passiiii^  policeman,  with  a  suspiciouf 
bundle  ill  his  arms.  Still,  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  he  started 
forward  in  the  direction  the  girl  had  pointed  out,  found  the 
ijaLstaiid,  and  in  iive  minutes  more  was  rattling  over  the 
stony  streets,  Bloomsburyward.  Then  he  opened  tiie  shawl, 
Day  was  brigiit'y  breaking,  and  the  first  little  pink  ray  stole 
in  and  kissed  the  lovely  sleeping  face,  framed  in  tiny  Haxrn 
curls*. 

A  baby!  and  he  w^as  taking  it  home.'  This  was  how  tlie  ad- 
venture of  this  night  had  ended.  And  he  had  said  he  would 
be  i);iiiiting  at  the  Royal  Britannia,  until  daylight. 

'•powers  above!"  thought  Mt.  Mason,  his  very  heart  seem- 
iDg  *o  die  within  him.    "What  will  Rosanna  say  ?" 


•  CHAPTER  VII. 

AT   ST.    GEORGE^   HANOVER    SQUARE. 

The  sun  was  just  rising  ^as  the  hansom  tore  through  the 
Cjuiet  sttieets  of  Bloomsbury,  waking  the  peaceful  rate-])aying, 
resjx  ctable,  third-class  inhabitants  from  their  slumbers. 

lie  reached  Half -Moon  Terrace — he  paid  and  dismissed  the 
cab. 

Duke  opened  the  kitchen  door,  stalked  in,  and  confronle*] 
his  sister. 

*M)uke!"         •    . 

Only  one  word,  but  the  tone!  In  some  such  voice  of  an- 
guish may  the  great  Napoleon,  at  St.  Helena,  looking  back 
at  <)ne  disastrous  day,  have  exclaimed,  "Waterloo!" 

"It's  not  mine,  Rosanna — I  swear  it's  not!"  DuJ^e  cried  out, 
as  he  held  out  the  infant  imploringly.  "I  never  set  eyes  on  it 
until  within  the  last  two  hours!" 

'*Not  on  it,  perhaps- — but  its  mother " 

"Nor  its  mother  either — so  help  me!  until  three  weeks  ago! 
Good  gracious,  Rosanna !  what  a  mind  you  must  have  to  sus- 
pect a  fellow  in  this  way,  without  giving  him  a  chance  to 
explain!  I  never  saw  the  child  until  it  was  given  to  me — no, 
forced  upon  me,  by  Jove!  two  hours  ago;  and  its  mother, 
if  she  be  its  mother,  I  met,  for  the  first  time,  three  weeks  ago 
down   in  Lincolnshire." 

''And  yet  you  fetch  tlie  child  home!  Misguided  young 
ninn  !     Do  you  exix^ct  me  to  believe  such  a  story  as  this^" 

"I  (  xpect  you  to  believe  the  truth.  Don't  stare  at  me  in 
that  uncomfortable  way,  Rosanna,  as  if  you  were  the  Gor- 
don's head.    If  you'll  take  the  child,  I'll  shut  the  door,  and 


il 

to 

a! 

4' 

dl 

• 

IV 

.1 

IK 

V-. 

fa 

,a 

n( 

ir 

h< 

3a 

A 

a 

cl 

'-•"Co 


lAdl 


a  su.<piciou8 
am,  he  Htartcd 
mt,  fonnd  the 
;liiig  over  the 
led  tlie  rihawJ. 
pink  ray  stoic 
ill  tiny  iJaxcn 

as  how  the  ad- 
said  he  would 
light, 
•y  heart  seem« 


e  througli  the 
il  rate-])aying, 
lumbers, 
dismissed  tlie 

id  confronted 


i  voice  of  an- 
looking  back 

00 !" 

i\ke  cried  out, 
set  eyes  on  it 


Be  weeks  ago! 

t  have  to  sus- 

a  chance  to 

n  to  me — no, 

i  its  mother, 

ree  weeks  ago 

iuided   young 

as  thisf' 
are  at  me  in 
^ere  the  Gor- 
;lie  door,  and 


I 


At  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square.      39 

tell  you  he  whole  story.  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  it, 
and  here,  it's  waking  up." 

Miss  ^lason  took  the  baby.  Kven  Achilles  had  a  vulnera- 
ble spot  somewhere  in  his  heel,  and  JVJiss  Mason  had  one  in 
her  heart;  a  child  always  found  its  way  there  at  once.  She 
took  it  with  wonderful  tenderness,  and  removed  the  shawl 
altogether,  a  real  India  shawl,  she  saw  to  her  great  atnazo. 
Tlie  little  one  opened  its  eyes — two  big,  blue  eyes,  and  looked 
with  a  baby  stare  of  wonder  up  in  her  face.  It  was  the  pret- 
tiest little  thing  conceivable — a  child  of  a  year  and  a  half  or 
more,  with  little,  chiseled  features,  a  rose-bud  moiiLb,  and 
beautiful,  blue  eyes,  crystal  clear.  A  baby  girl  with  dainty 
embroidered  underclothiiiiif,  a  little  blue  silk  dress,  the  Iuk;  of 
her  eyes,  and  a  gold  chain  and  locket  round  Jier  neck.  Curi- 
osity overcame  every  other  feeling,  even  virtuous  maiden  in- 
dignation, in  the  breast  of  Miss  Kosanna. 

"[•'or  Heaven's  sake,  Duke,  what  does  it  mean,  and  wht>  is 
this  child  ?" 

''That's  more  than  I  know.  I  don't  know  her  name,  nor 
her  age,  any  more  than  the  dead.  All  T  do  know  I'll  tell  you 
now.  P>ut  first  you  may  keep  those  things."  He  drew  for*^h 
the  pocketbook.  "There's  a  hundred  pounds  here,  which  her 
mother  gave  me,,  and  here's  a  ring,  also  given  me  by  her 
m(»ther.  Now  don't  look  like  that,  Kosanna!  Miss  Lyndith'a 
a  great  lady,  whose  very  flunkies,  I  dare  say,  would  look  down 
on  me." 

"Afiss  Lyndith!  I  thought  you  were  speaking  of  thijs 
child's  mother,  Duke?"  Rosanna  said,  in  a  spectral  voice, 

"So  I  am.  If  there's  anything  wrong  it's  not  my  fault. 
It's  a  very  queer  affair  from  first  to  last,  and  much  more  like 
one  of  tlie  five-act  dramas  at  the  Britannia  than  the  events 
of  real  life." 

And  then,  while  the  little  one  lay  in  Miss  Mason's  arms, 
and  gazed  about  her  with  solemn,  baby  eyes.  Duke  went  hack 
to  the  twenty  fifth  of  March,  and  told  the  story  of  that  nii-ht — 
all  he  b.ad  se^n,  all  he  had  heard  This  was  the  cause  of  his 
dreaminess,  his  absence  of  mind,  th'  change  she  had  noti'^-ed 
in  him.  Them  he  produced  the  note  of  the  previous  after- 
noon, and  gave  it  to  h  ^r  to  read,  and  related  all  that  had  be- 
fallen him  from  three  o'clock  until  now. 

Tlis  sister  listened  breathlessly.  She  had  never  read  a 
novel,  nor  witnessed  a  play  in  her  life.  She  had  never  been 
in  love,  she  aad  no  data  to  fall  baok  upon  that  might  help 
her  to  realize  this  ?fory.  It  -va-  like  he.tring  Greek  to  her. 
All  she  knew  was  that  Miss  I.yndith,  be  she  never  so  rich,  wa> 
a  young  woman  no  '>etter  than  she  ought  to  be,  and  that  thifj 
child  in  her  Icy^  t?^  doub^le^s  the  offspring  of But  =5h« 

v. 


40      At  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square. 

lotjked  down,  nnd  ihe  angelic  ii\cv  bioko  into  the  boautiful 
eniile  of  babyhood,  and  ihc  tv.'o  little  fat  bauds  held  them- 
selves up. 

"Polly  want  her  bek-fas.'' 

The  little  silver  voice  went  straij;ht  to  that  vulnerable  spot 
in  Miss  Mason's  chain-mail  armor.  Perhaps  if  Nature  had 
never  meant  her  for  a  wife,  it  had  meant  her  for  a  mother. 
A  glow  came  actually  into  her  tallow  complexion;  she  rai^^€d 
th«  child,  and  pressed  it  to  her  vestal  bosom. 

"You're  the  prettiest  little  thing  I  ever  saw  in  my  life. 
My  little  pet,  tell   me  your  name.'" 

"Pollv,"  whispered  the  child.    "Polly  want  Dozy." 

"Whatf 

"Dozv.'' 

Kosaiuia  looked  lieli)l(  ssly  at  Duke.  Duke  sat  astounded 
to  lii'ar  ihe  midget  speak  at  all. 

"Pci'hnps  it'tr  her  nurse,"  he  sujLrg<'sted.  "I  think  now,  I 
heard  Miss  T.yndith  call  the  name  'Kosie,'  in  the  inner  room.'* 

"Dozy,  Dozy,"  repeated  the  child,  impatiently.  "Polly 
want  Dozy!  J^oUy  w:ii!t  her  bek-fas.  Polly  want  to  get 
down." 

"Polly.  ])ut  the  kettle  on,"  Duke  murmured,  abstractedly; 
"put  P(»lly  down,  K^sanna.     Let's  see  if  she  can  walk.'' 

Polly  c(»ul(l  walk  very  well.  Tn  her  blue  silk  dress  and 
flaxen  curls,  her  gohl  cliain  and  locket,  her  glimmering  bronze 
boots,  and  nilk  stockings,  Polly  looked  a  thorough  baby  aris- 
tt)crat  from  top  1o  toe. 

"Like  a  small  duch<'ss,  by  (Jeorge!''  said  Duke,  admi'-Ingly; 
"a  f(dl  t\v  might  make  his  fortune  if  h ''  could  paint  her. 
She  looks  like  Miss  Lyndith,  too,  about  the  nose  and  chin." 

"Duke,*'  his  sister  said,  sternly,  "never  let  me  hear  the 
name  of  that  young  person  from  your  lips  again.  Wo  will 
keej)  the  child;"  her  hard  face  softened  as  she  looked  at  the 
tiny  bcauiy  in  blue  s-'k;  "but  speak  no  more  of  a  creature 
who  tells  you  thi  is  her  w(Hlding  day,  who  is  called  Mis3 
Lyndith,  and  who  o\.ns  this  child  to  be  hers.  She  has  reason 
to  be  thankful,  poor  babe,  thai  she  has  been  snatched  from 
that  sink  of  corruption,  the  fashionable  world,  at  so  early 
an  age." 

The  poor  babe  did  not  seom  particularly  thankful. 

'After  calling  for  "Dozy''  two  or  three  times  in  vain,  Polly 
opened  her  cherub  mouth,  and  set  up  such  a  howl  as  made 
Rosanna's  blood  curdle  with  new  terror. 

"Polly  shall  have  bread  nnd  milk,"  Miss  Mason  said,  sooth- 
ingly; "only  do  be  quiet,  dear.  1  suppose  we  must  fabricate 
1  story  for  the  neighbors,  Duke ;  and  may  the  Lord  forgive  us. 
One  can't  toueb  Ditch  witliout  being  defiled.    We  can't  iiATt 


i^ 


Liare. 

the  boautlful 
Is  held  thcm- 


iilnorable  spot 
f  Nature  had 
for  a  mother. 
)n ;  she  rai?<€d 


V  111   my 


life. 


>ozy.' 


sat  astounded 

think   now,  I 

inntu'  room.'* 

ntly.      "Polly 

want    to  ^et 

abstractedly; 
1  walk.-' 
ilk  dress  and 
nerinu"  hronzo 
fzh  hr.hy  aris- 

,  admi'-in.uly ; 
Id  ])aint  her. 
>e  and  ehin." 
me  liear  the 
in.  We  will 
looked  at  the 
of  a  creature 
3  called  Mis3 
le  has  reason 
latched  from 
,   at  so  early 

ikful. 

n  vain,  Polly 

owl  HvS  made 

1  said,  s(K)th- 
ust  fabricate 
*d  forgive  us. 
^e  can't  havt 


I 


At  SL  George's,  Hnnover  ^quare.       41 

to  do  with  the  wicked  ones  of  the  (arth    wit}ii»ut  riharing  in 
their  wii'kedness/' 

"And  as  I've  been  up  all  ni«:ht,  Koaanna,  I'll  turn  in  until 
breakfast  time,"  Duke  answered;  "roiit  me  out  at  half  after 
eij,dit.  I  am  p:oinjj^  to  strike  \-*ork  this  iiiorning,  and  ^o  to  St. 
(ieorjAf's,  JIanover  Square,  'ind  minj^le  witii  the  bloati-d  aris- 
tocracy,  and   see   this  young   lad.v'^    mamma   marritnl.        \U'^ 


your  i>ardoii,   Jlosanna,   for  alludiufi   to   her -I   won't    do   it 
ii,irain.     What  a  dickens  of  a  temper  the  little  angel  has  I" 

Puke  went  to  bed;  Kosanna  pacified  Polly,  with  some 
trouble,  and  more  bread  and  milk.  For  once  in  a  way,  she 
was  almost  excited.  A  child  to  dress,  and  scold,  and  love, 
and  a  hundred  pounds  in  her  })ock(t. 

At  half-past  eight  precisely  ^^lie  summoned  Duke  to  break- 
fast. The  young  ■  lan  found  his  sister  in  better  and  gentler 
mood  than  he  had  ever  known  her  in  his  life  at  this  early 
hour. 

Polly  bad  gorged  herself,  like  a  small  boa-ccnstrictor,  with 
ln-c-d  and  milk,  and  now,  standing  on  one  of  the  pai-lor 
chairs,  looking  out  of  the  window  at  the  busy  scene  in  the 
mews  opposite,  was  wailing  in  a  plaintive  minor  key  for 
"Dozy."'  She  never  called  for  her  mamma,  Rosanna  noticed, 
as  most  babies  do — always  "Dozy.'' 

Duke  ate  his  breakfast,  started  off  at  a  rapid  pace  for  the 
aristocratic  portals  of  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square.  There 
would  be  no  end  of  a  hav,  he  thought,  at  the  scene-room  of 
the  liritnnnia  in  conse<iuence  of  his  non-appearance,  and 
Tinsel  k  Spangle  would  iine  him,  very  likely;  but  a  m.  a 
who  is  the  happy  possessor  of  a  hundred  i)Ounds  can  atlord 
to  defy  the  minions  of  the  theatre. 

"Pll  see  !Miss  L.  turned  off,"  thought  Duke,  eleg-uitly,  "and 
then  have  at  thee,  Spangle;  and  cursed  be  he  who  first  cries 
hold !  enough  I" 

It  was  high,  noon  when  the  scene-painter  reached  bis  desti- 
nation—high noon  on  a  sunny  April  day,  warm  as  tn id-June. 
A  stately  procession  of  elegant  i)riva*te  carriages  filled  the 
.street — half  the  turnouts  in  May  fair,  it  seemed  to  the  sim- 
ple denizen  of  Half-Moon  Terrace — and  a  mob  of  idlers  on 
the  lookout  to  see  the  qualify. 

Duke,  in  his  haste,  turning  sharp  round  ihe  angles  of  one 
of  these  whif-e- favored  vehicles,  ran  violently  against  a  geu- 
flemar.  coming  in  equal  haste  from  the  oppositcdircciion. 

"Beg  your  jiardon,  sir.  Didn't  mean  anything  offensive, 
you  know!"  Duke  said,  ])olitely.    "T  hope  T  haven't  hurt  you." 

The  gentleman  made  no  reply.  lie  did  not  even  seem  to 
l»ear  him.  ]Tis  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  church  itl*  h  ^»un- 
gry,  strained  intensity  of  gaze. 


'"Hi 


T"-"'"— ""• '" 


!M' 


1 


% 


42      At  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square. 

"Queer  customer!^'  Mr.  Mason  thought.  "That  young  mnu 
has  evidently  something  on  his  mind.  Ho  is  a  gentleman,  I 
take  it,  iii  spite  of  his  rough  shooting-jaeket  and  foreign 
hat.    He  has  somi'thing  the  look  of  a  sailor." 

On  the  instant,  the  object  of  his  thoughts  turnc^l  round 
with  a  suddenness  quite  disconcerting,  and  addressed  him: 

"Can  you  tell  me  who  is  being  married  here  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"Well,  I  shouldn't  like  to  swear  to  it,  but  I  think  Sir  Vane 
Chnrteris."  t 

"All  I"  The  stranger  f^rouuvl  out  that  little  word  between 
his  teeth  in  a  way  familiar  to  Mr.  Mason  on  the  boards  of  the 
Britannia.    "And  to  whom?" 

"Well,  I  think  to  Miss  Olivia  I.yndith.  But  as  it  is  only 
supposition  on  my  part,  suppose  we  stop  in  and  ascertain?" 

"I  will  follow  you,"  the  stranger  said,  falling  back  a  step. 
"For  IKnivon's  sake,  hurry!" 

Duke  hastened  in,  a  little  surprised,  but  not  much. 

"If  this  mysterious  young  man,  with  the  auburn  beard,  and 
remarkably  handsome  face,  should  be  'Rob-ert'  now,"  he 
thought;  "and  she  should  recognize  him,  and  shrieking,  *It  is 
he.!'  fall  swooning  at  his  feet,  it  would  be  quite  a  lively  scene 
for  St.  George's." 

'J'hese  sort  of  recontres  were  very  common  on  the  stage,  and 
Duke  saw  no  reason  why  they  should  not  be  in  everyday  life 
as  well. 

He  led  the  way  into  the  church.  It  was  almost  filled  with 
elegantly-dressed  ))c()i)le.  Two  weddings  were  eroing  vn.  diiw 
the  altar  was  quite  a  bewildering  spectacle,  with  snow-white 
and  azure-robed  ladies,  and  solemnly  biack  LTntlemen-  One 
of  the  ])ew-openers  gave  them  i^  place  near  the  door,  as  be- 
came their  shabby  coats  and  cltmp-'ng  boots. 

The  stronger,  as  he  removed  bis  hat,  iHike  saw  wa?  a  very 
fair  man,  despite  the  golden  b'-oii^o  of  his  «kin',  and  the  fixeo, 
rigid  pallor  of  his  face,  the  wild  i-'tensity  of  his  blue  eyes,,  be- 
trayerl  that  his  interest  in  what  vas  g'ting  on  was  no  ordi- 
nary oiie. 

"They're  coming!"  Duke  said.     ''We've    aiASsec  int    A'eo 
ding,  after  all.     The  thing's  all  over,"  , 

He  was  right.  The  newly-wedded  pairs  had  signea  .the  'Ag- 
ister, and  were  sweeping  down  the  aisle.  The  first  bride  vjp.~ 
a  Junoesque  lady,  with  high  color  and  modestly  do^vncn=^' 
eyes.  They  barely  glanced  at  her.  She  and  her  tram  saile; 
by.  The  second  bridal  party  came — the  bride  this  thvc-  - 
there  was  no  doubt  about  it — tiie  late  Miss  Olivia  Lyndi./. 

It  is  proper,  of  course,  tor  brides  to  look  pale  at  thi  ^^■^- 
preme  hour  01  their  lives.    This  brid'3  was  pale  beyonc  til   v-j- 


'■t 


\ 

I 

2J 


uare. 

at  young  man 
,  gentleman,  I 

t   and    foreij-^u 

turno^l  round 
ressed  him: 
re  this  morn- 

link  Sir  Vane 

word  between 
boards  of  the 

;  as  it  is  only 
id  aseertain  ?" 
?  baek  k\  step. 

mueh. 

irn  beard,  and 
rt'  now,"  ho 
rieking',  *Tt  is 
a  lively  scene 

;he  stag'e,  and 
everyday  life 

)&t  filled  witb 
roiiig  -n.  aih. 
h  snow-white 
tlenien-  One 
"  door,  as  be- 

\v  wai^  a  very 
ind  the  fixeci, 
)lue  eyes,,  be- 
was  no  ordi- 

>ec  int    A'oo 

rnea  .the  "cfr- 
rst  brids  v>'n" 
ly   do^nc^t-' 

tram  ?9ile; 

this  tin>e-  - 
;i  Lyndi.h. 
0  at  thi"  r"-- 
eyonc  i\\'  ^>. 


At 


H 


Georg'       Hanover  Square.      43 


dinnry  nallor  of  bridehond.  Tier  faee  wns  ghastly,  her  great, 
dark  eyes  looked  blankly  straight  b(>fove  her,  with  a  fixed, 
sightless  stare;  her  very  lips  were  ashen.  1'he  bridt-groom, 
un  til-.'  contrary — a  portly,  undersized,  _  llurid,  good-looking 
man — was  flushed,  excited,  exultant.  Jlis  restless  black  eyes 
moved  about  ceaselessly  in  a  (|uick,^iervous  sort  of  way.  and 
as  he  drew  near,  the  stranger  sitting  beside^  Duke  suddenly 
r(»se   up. 

It  was  impossible  not  to  look  at  him.  The  stony  bride 
never  looked,  certainly;  but  the  smiling  bridegrooin  did; 
and  the  smile  froze,  and  the  florid  color  died  on  his  fai^«,  and 
.  an  awful  look  of  fear  transfixed  it.  A  wordless  cry  appeared 
to  rise  and  die  upon  his  lips.  He  seemed  for  an  instant 
rootcMl  to  the  spot.  Then  the  crowd,  pushing  on,  bore  him 
with  it,  and  Mr.  Mason  was  alone  with  his  extraordinary 
companion.  The  stranger  still  stood  in  that  rigid  attitude, 
like  a  man  slowly  petrifying. 

''(i:;d!"  thought  the  scene-painter.  "T  didn't  think  any  hu- 
man being  except  the  First  Murderer  of  the  Britannia  could 
glare  in  that  blood-freezing  way.  I  suppose  old  Quill  knows 
whitt  he  is  about,  after  all,  when  he  writes  melodramas.  This 
must  be  Eobert.    Til  ask  him,  by  George!" 

"1  beg  your  pardon."  he  said,  "fgr  a  seemingly  impertinent 
(pKstion.  but  might  your  name  be  Robert?" 

'"Uobeit?  Yes,"  the  stranger  answered,  mechanically.  He 
did  U'jf  SKMU  surprised  at  the  question;  all  feeling  was  stupe- 
fied with  ill  him. 

"Oil,  it  is!    Perhaps,  also,  it  may  be  Lisle!" 

Til  is  time  the  young  man  iu  the  rough  jacket  did  turn 
round,  iuid  looked  at  his  questioner. 

•'What  do  you  know  of  Robert  Lisle?"  he  demanded. 

*'\Vcll,  not  much,  only  T  have  heard  the  name,  and  if  you 
were  Mr.  Lisle.  I  think  I  could  understand  better  vour  very 
evident  interest  in  the  lady  who  has  just  gone  by." 

'J'he  young  man,  whose  name  was  Robert,  laid  his  hand 
heavily  on  Duke's  shoulder. 

"Y(.u  know  her.  then?"  he  exclaimed.     "You  !" 

''Well,"  replied  "Mr.  Mason,  "slightly.  I  have  had  th  honor 
of  doing  her  s(.me  little  service  in  by-gone  hours,  and  though 
she  didn't  noiice  me  this  morning,  we  have  been  very  friendly 
and  confidcmtifi',  I  assure  you,  in  times  past.  And  if  you 
had  been  Mr.  (Robert  Lisle,  atid  had  called' upon  her  yester- 
diiv,  I  dare  say  she  would  have  been  pleased  to  see  you.  Yes- 
terday she  was  "Miss  Lyndith,  to-day  she  is  Lady  Charteris — 
id  the  difference  in  the  world,  you  understand." 

"Then  she  has  spoken  of  me  to  you?  She  has  not  for- 
goUeri — she- 


w 


44      At  bt.  George's,  Hanover  Square. 

He.  Stopped,  lii;*  vnicc  husky,  his  eyes  like  live  eoals. 

"She  lias  not  t'orj^otten — (leeidivlly  nut — but  at  the  .sanir 
t'lmo  ^\\v  hasii't  spoken  oi"  you  to  nie.  You  are  llobei't  J^isle» 
then  r 

'I  he  stranger  dropped  his  hand  nnd  turned  abru[)tly  away. 

"Aly  name  is  i  la\vksle_M,''  he  said,  eoldly;  "and  J  must  sec 
her.  Yes.  by  i!eav<Mi  I"— he  e'.enehed  his  strung;,  white  teeth 
■ — "collie  what  may  I" 

''I  should  advise  you  to  hurry,  then,"  suggested  Duke,  po- 
litely. "They  start  for  Italy  in  an  hour's  time,  I  have  rea- 
son to  know,  and  it"  you  miss  her  now  it's  all  up!  liriiles 
don't  generally  receive  strange  gentlemen  on  thi'ir  wedding 
morning,  but  this  seems  an  exceptional  occasion,  and  she 
may  see  you.  Shall  1  order  vou  a  cab  and  tell  theai  where  to 
drive?"  said  Duke,  inwardly  burning  with  curiosity. 

Mr.  Ilawksley  nodded  and  slouched  his  hat  down  over  hi^ 
eyes.  The  last  of  the  aristocratic  vehicUs  hnd  vanished  lon^ 
Ixd'ore.  Duke  led  the  way  to  the*  nearest  cabstand,  and  en- 
tered the  hansom  aft<'r  the  stranger.  Mv.  Ilawksley  might 
order  him  out,  but  he  was  willing  to  risk  it.  ]\Ir.  Ilawksley 
did  uo[,  however;  \\o  sat  with  his  hat  over  his  brow,  his  arma 
folded,  his  lips  compressed  under  that  beautiful,  tawny  beard, 
the  whole  way. 

"Tie  looks  like  the  Corsair  by  Afedora's  deathbed,"  reflected 
Duke.  "He  has  a  very  striking  pair  of  blue  eyes.  So  haa 
little  Polly.  Now  wouldn't  it  l>e  rather  (lueer  if  (Mr.  Robert 
Hawksley,  I  think  he  said.)  should  he  Polly's  father?" 

The  carriage  containing  Sir  Vane  Charteris  and  his  bride 
reached  the  mansion  of  Mr.  Geoffrey  liyndith,  in  Park  lane. 
The  silence  that  reigned  in  Duke's  hansom  reigned  also  in 
this  elegant  coach  and  four.  The  bride  sat  like  some  marble 
bride,  as  pale,  as  cold;  almost  as  lifeless — the  bridegroom  snt 
with  a  leaden  face  of  abject  fear. 

"Did  Lyndith  see  him,  I  wondcM*?"  he  thought.  "lie  left; 
the  church  before  me.  To  be  balked  like  this  at  the  last  hour, 
after  waiting  so  long,  after  risking  so  much.  At  the  last 
hour,  when  the  game  is  all  my  own,  to  liave  him  start  up  as  if 
from  the  very  earth.  And  ]  thought— we  all  thought — him 
dead  two  years  ago." 

lie  let  down  the  glass  and  loosened  his  neckerchief;  some- 
thing in  the  air  seemed  to  choke  him.  He  glanced  at  his 
bride,  and  a  storm  of  rage  at  her,  at  himself,  at  (Jeoffrey  Lyn- 
dith, at  tliiit  apparition  in  the  church,  sv.opt  through' hnii. 

"She  lo(-ks  more  like  a  dead  woma'n  than  a  biide.  What 
will  every  one  say?  Why  can't  she  smile,  or  rouge,  or  do 
something  except  look  like  that — death  in  life?  I  scarcely 
know  whether  I  love  Jr  hate  her  most — one  dav  or  other  she 


ire. 

•oak. 

It   thr  saiiK 

lobtTt  J^isloj 

nptly  away. 

1   must  soo 

white  teeth 

i  Diiko,  po- 
1  have  rca- 
ip!  Hricles 
>lr  wedding 
in,  and  slio 
un  whore  to 
t.V. 

i\n  over  hi> 
nished  lon^ 
!i<l,  and  en- 
ksley  might 
•.  Ilawksley 
w,  liis  arma 
iwny  beard. 

1,"  refloeted 
L»s.  So  haa 
Mr.  Robert 
lor?" 

d  his  bride 
Park  lane. 
10(1  also  in 
)mo  marble 
ogroom  sat 

"JTo  loft 

e  last  hour, 

\t  the  last 

irt  up  as  if 

ught — him 

liof;  some- 
ict'd  at  hia 
otfrcy  Lyn- 

i^ir  h'lu. 
lide.     What 
ugo,   or  do^ 

I  scarcely 
p  other  sKa 


At  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square.       45 

shall  May  for  this.  And  to  think  there  should  have  bei'U  a 
eliild,  too,  and  --lie  shouKl  >|»irit  it  away.  She  hari  the  cun- 
ning of  liio  ol<l  tiend  when  she  likes/' 

1  he  <-arria^e  sfoppi-d.  lie  (hscoiuh'd,  and  lunuU-d  his  I.  e 
out.  riie  (»tlier  carriages  disgorged  them>elv(\s.  The  instant 
he  espied  Mr.  Lyndith,  he  inotion«'d  him  apart. 

"Come  into  ihe  library,"  he  >aid.  "1  ln»ve  a  word  to  say 
to  yon."  

•Mr.  l.yndith  led  the  way  instantly.  Sumething  had  hap- 
jxMU'd.      lie  read  it  in  Sir  Vamp's  leaden  face. 

"What  is  Ur  he  asked,  nervcnisly.  "Quick,  Chartcris ;  they 
will  wouder  at  our  abs»-nee.     Let's  have  it  in  a  woid." 


Kni 


m 


1  wil 

'What  r 

'Robert     i.islt 


e' 


IS 


al 


IV( 


. ». 


IS 


hei 


'e 


1 


saw 


hii 


n    in 


tl 


le 


chnreh.:*' 

"Charteris,  are  you   mad  ^" 

"Xot  now!  1  was  when  I  b.  ueved  your  story  of  Lislt's 
death.  I  toll  you  the  fellow  is  alive,  and  here.  1  saw  him  in 
church  as  wc  came  out." 

"Ihit,  great  rioaven,  Charteris  I  this  must  bo  lolly— mad- 
ness I  The  Jioi/al  ('h<irf(r  was  burned  to  the  water's  edge, 
an<l  every  soul  on  board  perished.  And  he  sailed  in  the 
lii>)l<d  Chnrhr.     I    toll   you   it   is   impossible!" 

"And  I  toll  you  T  saw  Roln-rt  Lisl(>,  faci^  to  face,  as  1  left 
the  church.  She  did  not,  or  1  think,  in  my  soul,  she  would 
have  <lroppcd  on  1»lie  ^jxtt.  He  stood  up,  and  gave  me  a  look 
I'm  jiot  likely  to  forget.  C\irse  it,  Lyndith,"  he  cried,  in  a 
sudden  fury,  'Mo  you  think  1  could  mistake  him  of  all  men  ^ 
Jiefore  we  leave  the  house,  Robert  l.isle  will  he  hero." 

"(ireat  Heaven!" 

"Ay,''  the  baronet  cried,  bitterly,  "you  will  believe  it  when 
he  comes.  There  will  be  a  lovely  scone — a  beautiful  sensation 
for  Park  lane.  We  kmnv  what  she  will  do,  if  she  oncii 
catches  sigjit  of  him.  All  the  story,  so  long  hidden,  will 
coine  out,  and  for  GeoHrey  J.yndith  it  moans  simply  ruin!'' 

"He  shall  not  see  her.     By  God,  ho  shall  not!" 

"Prevent  the  meeting  if  you  can.  Ho  is  a  desperate  man 
■ — if  ever  I  saw  desperation  in  human  eyes.  You  will  find  a 
ditfcront  man  from  the  Kobert  Lisle  of  two  years  ago.  And 
now,  as  you  say,  we  will  be  missed.  We  must  go  up  and 
.smile  and  make  speeches,  and  pl^y  our  part,  until  the  specter 
appears  at  the  feast." 

Ho  strode  out  of  the  library.  Mr.  .Lyndith  followed  him. 
There  was  no  helj)  for  it — their  absence  was  already  com- 
mented on  by  their  guests.  They  took  their  places  at  the 
table,  all  a-glitter  with  silver  and  crystal;   and  everybody 


9* 


Whistled  Down  the  Wind." 


notod  tht'ir  alteroii  looks^.  Sucli  a  KJinstly  bric'lc.  imd  audi  tt 
fttrango  pallor  on  the  laci-a  of  tiieir  host  and  Sir  Vane. 
Sonu'thiiiK  was  wroiiif.  Everybody  waited,  (iolieionsly  (ex- 
pectant oi  more  to  eonie. 

What  they  waited  for  came.  The  breakfast  was  nul  tjuar 
tor  over,  when  a  knock  thundered  at  the  i;rand  entrance — an 
ominous  and  authoritative  knock,  that  thrilled  throu;.;h  them 
all.  Sir  Vane  was  raising  his  j^iass  to  his  lips,  and  aj^-.nn  (ho 
suiilc  seemed  to  freeze  on  his  face,  and  the  jxlass  remained  half 
poised  in  liis  hand.  A  dead  silence  fell.  \n  that  silence  the 
sound  of  an  altercation  in  the  hall  reached  them  in  that 
distant  apartment.  Mr.  Lyndith  rose  abrui)tly — white  and 
Htern — jnade  a  hurried  apology,  and  hastened  from  the  room. 
A  moment  later  and  all  was  still,  'i'he  disturbance  was 
quelled;  but  (Jeofti-ey  i^yndith  did  not  come  back.  What  did 
it  mean'^  Kven  the  pale,  cold  bride  lifted  lier  heavy  eyes  and 
looked  at  the  leaden  face  of  the  man  she  had  married,  and 
waited  for  what  was  to  come  next. 


chaptp:r  viir. 


"WIIISTLKD  DOWN  THE  WIND.'* 


(leofTrcy  Lyndith'a  face  was  an  index  of  his  character — • 
dark,  stern,  resolute.  While  he  had  sat  at  the  head  of  his 
table,  smiling  upon  his  guests,  and  eating  and  drinking  me- 
chanically, his  ready  brain  had  been  at  work.  Plotting  was 
work  that  subtle  brain  was  well  used  to,  and  his  mind, 
prompt  in  thought,  quick  in  action,  grappled  at  once  wilh  his 
danger.  As  Sir  Vane  Chartcris  had  said,  the  coming  of  this 
man  in  all  likelihood  meant  ruin — ruin  tc  him,  (iedffn\v 
Lyndith,  Esquire,  of  Lyndith  Grange  and  Park  lane.  lie 
had  thought  the  man  dead  for  certain;  he  had  drivrti  him 
out  of  the  country  over  two  years  ago,  and  the  shii)  in  which 
he  had  sailed  had  been  burned  in  mid-ocean,  and  no  soul  left 
to  return,  and  Robert  Lisle  was  here  on  Olivia's  wedding  d:iy. 
Was  Satan  himself  at  work  to  balk  him,  he  vyonderec^  ?  lie 
had  got  Robert  Lisle  in  his  power  two  years  ago,  by  a  cow- 
ardly and  infamous  plot,  worthy  the  Newgat»o  calendar;  th.it 
power  he  still  held  over  him.  But  who  knew?  His  part  in 
it  might  come  to  light  after  all,  and  what  horrible  shain^ 
and  exposure  that  would  involve!  And  at  the  first  sound  of 
his  voice,  at  the  first  sight  of  his  face,  hisi  niece  would  fly  to 
his  arms,  to  cling  to  him  throuj^h  misery  and  death,  if  need 
were.  He  was  poor,  and  his  niece  was  rich;  her  money  would 
aid  his  enemy.    Beady  money  was  tiie  one  great  want  of  this 


d. 


99 


h\  111(1  stich  V 
nd  {Sir  Vane. 
loli<*if»nsiv   <^x- 


was  not  «|uar 

cut  riiMi'»'  -  ail 

throiij^li  tluMii 

ami  a^aiii  I  ho 

rcniaiiKMi  half 

»at  siloiifc  the 

thciii    ill    that 

ly — white  and 

roiii  th('  room. 

itiirhaii('(»   vva^i 

L-U.      WllMt  (li.l 

oavy  ey«^  and 
married,  and 


3  character — 
head  of  his 
drinkiii<x  nio- 
Phjtting'  w'dti 
lid  his  mind, 
once  with  lii>? 
)miii^  of  this 
lini,  (leoffrey 
rk  lane.  He 
I  driven  liim 
ihip  in  whieli 
i  no  soul  left 
wedding'  d;iy. 
(nderc(^  ?  lie 
?o,  by  a  covv- 
alendar;  th.jl 
liis  part  in 
rrihle  shaiiu^ 
irst  sound  of 
would  fly  to 
eath,  if  need 
Qioney  would 
want  of  this 


"Whistled  Down  tlie  Wind." 


47 


nian'ti  life,  and  on  the.  day  Iw  eunipt  lied  liis  nitce  to  marry 
iiini,  Sir  Vane  Chaiteris  liad  pioniiMii  iiini  a  eluM-k  for  ten 
Ihousand  pounds.  Kvcrythin^  had  j^one  on  so  well;  lie  had 
been  in  a  Kh»"'V  *'f  triumphant  e-\ultatH)n  lor  a  few  weeks  past, 
ai.d  now  -  and  now  I 

His  ey<  s  glowed  with  a  red,  evil  tire  as  he  descended  iho 
slair<ase,  his  teeth  set  behind  his  l)laek  beanl.  lie  could  con- 
front moral  or  physical  dany^er  with  the  brute  couraye  of  a 
tiuer, 

"A  nuui  always  trains,  be  his  ease  strong-  or  we;)k."  he  was 
uciustomed  ro  say,  "by  fucinj;  the  worst  boldly;  weakness  and 
/acillalion  always  fail,  as  they  deserve  to  do."  It  was  his 
llu'ory,  and  he  at-ted  upon  it,  in  every  crisis  of  life,  and  up  to 
thi-*  time  hail  found  it  succeeded.  His  face  looked  as  if 
carvid  in  ^rranite,  as  he  descended  to  the  entrance  liall,  for 
all  trepidation,  surprise,  anger,  fear,  or  any  other  huinaii 
emotion  it  disj)layed. 

A  porter,  a  butler,  tW(j  hij^h  footmen,  all  were  formed  in  a 
body  to  oppose  the  enemy-  a  tall,  young  man  in  rough  coat 
and  broad-brimmed  hat. 

"We  can't  do  nothink  with  him,  sir,"  the  butler  explain^'d, 
in  an  indignant  voice,  which  he  says,  like  his  impidi  nee,  as 
he  will  see  you,  Mr.^  l.yndith,  sir." 

The  two  men  l^Bkcd  each  other  full  in  the  face,  one  lev(>l, 
IMiwerf'.il  gaze.  'ITie  younger  man  took  otf  his  hat.  Ci(jod 
Ueavi-n!  what  horrible  reason  Geulfrey  Lyndith  had  to  know 
that  handsome,  sunburned  face. 

"1  know  this  i)erson,  Edwards,"  Mr.  Lyndith  said,  very 
tjuieily,  "and  will  see  him.     Follow  me,  sir." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  library,  a  stately  apartment  filled 
with  books  and  busts  and  bronzes,  and  into  Avhich  the  noon 
sunlight  came,  softly  tempered  through  closed  Venetians. 
(Jeoffrey  J.yndith  turned  the  key  in  the  doo.,  crossed  the 
room,  leaned  his  elbow  upon  the  crimson-velvet  mantel,  and 
faced  his  opponent.  It  was  a  duel  to  the  death;  and  both 
knew  it,  no  quarter  to  be  asked  or  given — one  or  the  other 
must  go  down  before  they  left  that  room. 

The  gentleman  of  the  Old  Ouard,  otherwise  the  master  of 
the  house,  fired  first. 

"This  is  an  exceedingly  unexpected  honor,  Robert^. isle. 
You  sailed  two  years  and  a  half  ago  in  the  ship  'Royal  Char- 
ter,' from  Southampton.  The  'Royal  Charter'  was  burned, 
find  all  on  board  perished.  May  I  ask  how  you  came  to  1)6 
alive?" 

Hia  tone  was  perfectly  cool;  his  face  admirably  calm,  his 
manner  as  nonchalantly  gentlcimanlike  as  though  he  had  been 
/eraarkiug  on  the  fineness  of  the  weather,  and  the  possibility. 


^,,  


im^ 


48 


**  Whistled  Down  the  Wind. 


tff 


of  rain   ri«  \t  wed;.     W'\   innltr  all  llial  lii^jli  bred  coiuposuro, 
what  liunil)k'  (car  lie  tVIt  <»!'  llii?*  niaii! 

"I  «li(l  not  sail  on  the  ^J!>>ij<ii  Cltortrr,' "  luihcit  i-isir  an- 
HwtTcd  ;  "I  took  iii.v  ()a'-a^o--you  saw  my  iiaiiK'  on  tlio  pas- 
S('nK<i"  list.  vtTV  likely.  At  the  last  linnr  1  nirt  with  an  •  ci- 
(Iriit  -a  very  trilling'  on(.'  which  niadr  nic  lose  it.  I  sailed 
in  the  'Wrsfrni  Shir'  the  followinK"  w»'ek.  Aro  you  satisfied 
now  that   I  am  no  wraitli  ^" 

"More  tiian  .-^ati^lied.  I  confiralnlale  you  upon  your  es 
cape.  Providence," — tlu»  sin'cring"  cmphnftis  wa^*  indescril)- 
ahlo  "I'rovidenci'  watched  over  ;sou,  no  douht.  Vou  wer(» 
wi>e  to  leave  Kngland  the  following'  week;  it  was  certaiidy 
no  place*  tor  yon.  Why  havi^  you  been  so  very  imprudent  a.s 
to  return  to  it  i" 

The  llashiuK  I'yes  of  the  youni^er  man  met  the  hard,  ylit- 
teriiiR  hlack  ones  with  a  tiei-y  lij.?ht. 

"\'ou  ask  that  (piestion,  (leotirey  I.vndithf 

"A>«snredly,  Mr.  Lisle— why  T 

"I  have  returned  to  claim  my  wife,  'i'o  expose  you  and 
your  villainy  to  the  world  you  delude;  be  the  penalty  to  my- 
8eW'  what  it  may  I" 

"When  you  use  that  sort- of  lan^uaj^c,  Mr.  Lisle."  the  elder 
man  said,  with  unrutiied  eomixtsure,  "you  Inive  the  advantaj»o 
of  me,  of  course.  Persons  in  your  elnss  g^PI»rally  do  resort  to 
vituperation,  I  believe,  when  ajinoyed.  You  will  ol)li^e  me 
by  keei)inj?  to  the  lanj^uaj.K'  and  bearing  of  a  j^entleman,  it* 
you  can,  while  talking-  to  \\\v.  You  have  returned  to  claim 
your  wife!  Ah!  but  there  is  no  such  person  in  Kngland, 
that  I  am  aware  of.  Out  there  among  the  aborig:ines  in- 
deed  " 

Robert  I^isle  strode  toward  Iwm,  a  dangerous  light  in  Jiia 
bhu»  eyes. 

"Do  you  dare  to  sneer  at  nie — you  of  all  men  alive  ^  It  isi 
not  safe;  1  warn  you,  it  is  not  safe!" 

"Ah!  T  wisli  you  wnild  have  the  i)oliteness  to  hear  me  out. 
If  you  mean  Lady  C'harteris,  she  never  was  your  wife — no, 
not  for  one  poor  hour.  And  if  you  have  come  to  claim  her. 
you  have  just  come  two  years  and  tluve  months  too  late.  She 
did  rtMuember  you  for  two  or  three  months  after  your 
very  abrupt  dei)arture  from  England,  I  will  own,  and  then 
eanie  the  natural  revulsion.  More  than  she  had  over  loved-- 
pshaw!  fancied  r.bc  loved  the  yc^oman's  son,  with  his  tall, 
shap<*]y  figure. and  good-looking  fac(> — she  hated,  abhorred 
him.  lioi  nuid  folly,  her  shanu^  dawned  upon  her,  in  its  tru(> 
light.  She  saw  what  she  had  done,  Iuhv  she  had  fallen,  how 
you  had  x^layed  ui)on  her  ehildish  credulity,  and  drajrged 
her  down,  and  she  hated — let  us  have  plain  wordflk,  Robe*' 


1 


I. 


*• 


"Whistled  Down  the  Wind." 


49 


il  compusuro, 

lort  T-Islc  nil- 

:'  on  tlu'  puH- 

wifli  Mil     '  ci- 

if.     I  .siiili'd 

you  siitislicd 

[)oii   your  r-< 
HH   iiidcscri!)- 
Vou    we IV 
v:is  certainly 
mpriKlfiit  a.s 

le  hanl,  glit- 


K)s<>  you  and 
tialty  to  njy- 

Ic,"  tlio  older 

10  advantaj^o 
:  do  resort  to 

11  oblige  met 
eiitleniaii,  if 
led  to  claim 
in  England, 
joriy^ines  in- 
light  in  Ilia 
alive  ^     It  is 

hoar  nic  out. 
ur  wife — no, 
0  claim  her. 

00  late.    She 
after    your 

n,  and  then 
ovor  loved-" 
■ith  liis  tall, 
?d,  abhorred 
r,  in  its  true 

1  fallen,  how 
md  drajTgod 
ardft,  Rober«- 


l-i.^fK- she  liatcti  your  nu'inory  wilh  an  inten"«ity  F  never 
dreamed  ^lit;  ijo^^essed.  The  hauntiny:  fear  le-<t  Ikt  d.  - 
uraceinl  srci\'t  should  be  Uiiou  n  t(»  th"  world  nearly  drovt^ 
her  nuid.  She  buried  h<r^elt"  alive  down  :if  l.yndith  (Irans-o? 
for  a  timo — she  went  abroad  with  me.  Iler  secrt'l  so  pi'-y  d 
upon  her.  that  In  r  he.ilfh  was  atreeic  il.  All  ihi-  t'uie  lu-r 
pliuhted  hu.Hband,  the  man  ot"  her  dyim;  faflier's  choice,  wa-* 
by  her  side.  e\cr  tender,  evr  dcvdcd  ami  -he  leaiMied  to 
know  the  lull  value  of  that  which  .she  had  tlun«'  away,  und 
slie  loved  him  with  a  love,  all  the  j,n't'J>t<'i'  that  it  was  tiriued 
wilh  renior>-e.  Then  came  ihf  lU'Ws  of  the  lo-s  of  ilie  'lioi/  il 
Cliiirlii,'  ami  all  on  bt>ar<l.  She  was  free  I  I  j-omembfr 
handinjf  her  th«'  paper."  Mr.  Lyndifh  said,  lookinu  dt'camily 
bel'ore  him.  like  a  man  who  behold>  what  lie  rclaii's;  "and 
pointing  "ut  your  mnno  amonj^  the  list  of  lo»^t.  lor  a  mo- 
ment she  ^rew  deadly  pale.  She  had  always  a  tender  heart  ; 
jioor  ehihl-  and  it  se<Mned  a  hori-ible  fate  to  In-  Iturned  alive 
in  the  midst  of  the  Atlantic.  Then  she  threw  the  paper 
down,  flung  herself  in  my  arjus,  and  sol)bed  in  wild  hysterics: 
'Oh,  uncle,'  blie  cried, 'is  it  wi<'ked  to  be  thaid<fid  to  Ilcav«'n 
for  (  ven  an  enemy's  deaths  And  1  liked  him  once,  and  his 
fato  has  l)een  an  awful  one,  and  yet  my  jicari  ha--  no  room 
for  anything  but  th:  ikfulness  that  I  am  free.  \t»w  the  ex- 
posure of  a  divorce  court  will  be  unecessary — an  exposun^ 
whif.'h  1  think  would  kill  me.  'I'liaidc  Heaven,  without  it  ho 
has  given  me  back  my  lil)erty!'  And  jifter  tl  is  she  rallied, 
ami  ji^avo  Sir  Vane  her  prtmiiso  to  become  his  wlf«'." 

Robert  Li.sle  listcijed  to  this  lengthy  speech,  with  a  smile  of 
cynical  scorn  on  his  handsome  bi'arded  mouth. 

"Yon  were  always  an  oi-ator,  ^Ir.  f-yndith,"  he  said, 
quietly;  "spouting-  was  ever  your  forto,  1  remember,  and 
graceful  fiction  quite  a  striking  trait  in  your  characfr-r.  I  see 
time  but  end)ellishes  your  talents.  In  plain  F.nglish.  I  don't 
believe  ojie  word  you  have  t(»ld  me.  Olivia  l.yndith  was  not 
the  sort  of  W(>»man  to  whistle  a  lost  lover  down  the  wind,  after 
any  such  fashion — much  less  the  husband  ^shc  b»ved  — 
Heaven!  loved  so  dearly!" 

His  face  softened;  that  of  (lef>fTrey  LyiMlith  grew  black 
with  suppressed  fury. 

"Von  are  an  indolent  boor."  ho  said,  "but  you  w^r^rc  <iiways 
that.  Two  years'  sojourn  among  the  refuse  of  the  world  in 
transatlantic  cities  should  hardl.v  be  lik<'ly  to  improve  y(»u. 
T  \(A\  you  Olivia  Lyndith  never  was  your  wife  -jiever!  Vou 
are  alive,  but  no*  divorce  will  be  luvnled.  A  girl  of  si.xler'n 
runs  away  to  Scotland  antl  goes  through  sf)me  sort  of  Scotch 
ceremony,  that  nmy  pass  for  marriage  beyond  the  border.  \t 
will  not  hold  in  England,  as  you  very  well  know.    A  minor 


^o 


^« 


Whistled  Down  the  Wind.' 


contract  n  le^al  marriage,  forsooth!  You  are  olc  enoiigh^  d» 
least,  to  know  better,  my  ii;ood  fellow.  Tlio  niarriag(?  was  uo 
inarriaf?c,  the  child   illegitimate.'' 

lie  stopped  short — he  had  betrayed  himself  in  his  momen- 
tary burst  of  anjjrer.  The  youii^  man  started,  and  a  dark 
flush  i)asse<l  over  his  tanned  f  ice. 

"The  child!"  he  said;  ''ihere  was  a  child?" 

It  was  too  late  to  draw  back — the  truth,  neatly  <i:lossed  over 
with  falsehood,  nmst  be  told. 

"Yes,  a  child,  who  died  two  days  after  its  birth,  thank 
Ifeaven.  That  makes  no  difference — Sir  Vane  knows.  What 
was  she  but  a  child  herself,  poor  little  Livey,  when  you  led 
her  astray.  J.ittlc  wonder  shp  abhors  your  very  memory. 
And  now,  to  add  one  last  outrage,  you  come  here  to  cover  her 
with  shame,  to  take  up  from  the  dead  past  the  story  she  be- 
lieves burl- d  in  oblivion,  which  she  would  die  rather  than 
have  the  world  know.  Kobert  Lisle,  you  are  less  than  man  to 
blight  the  life  of  an  innocent  ti:irl." 

The  face  of  the  young  man  turned  white,  a  cold  aioistiire 
broke  out  upon  his  forehead.  Was  this  true,  after  all?  Had 
].ord  Montalien  been  right?    Was  he  forgotten — abhorred? 

"I  will  see  her,  at  least,"  he  cried,  hoarsely.  "From  her 
lips  alone  will  ]  take  my  death  warrant.  If  she  teljs  me  to 
go,  I  will  obey  her — yes,  though  I  should  hang  myself  withiii 
the  hour.  But  I  know  you  of  old,  Geoffrey  Lyndith — a  man 
without  heart,  or  truth,  or  honor!  Oh,  don't  think  1  am 
afraid  of  you!  This  is  no  time  for  fine  words.  Bring  her 
here — let  her  tell  mo  she  hates  me,  let  her  bid  me  go,  and  I 
wi^l  go,  and  never  trouble  her  more  in  this  world." 

Geoffrey  Lyndith  looked  at  him,  the  dull,  red  glow  more 
visible  than  ever  in  his  evil,  black  eyes, 

"Bring  her  here?"  he  repeated;  "I  would  see  her  dead  first! 
Do  you  know  what  you  ask  ?  She  does  not  know  whether  her 
first  marriage  was  binding  or  not — like  all  girls,  she  thinks  it 
was.  She  believed  yoii  dead — she  thought  herself  a  widow, 
and  has  married  again — a  man  whom  she  loves,  as  in  her 
wildest  fancy  she  never  cared  for  you.  Do  you  now  what  the 
consequence  of  bringing  her  here  will  be?  It  will  kill  her, 
I  think — just  that !  The  exposure,  the  scandal,  the  loss  of 
the  husband  she  los'es.  vShe  would  never  hold  up  her  head 
again.  If  you  ever  loved  her.  Robert  Lisle,  you,  should 
spare  her  now." 

"Loved  her!     Oh,  Heaven  !*' 

He  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands.  Was  Geoffrey  Lyndith  not  right?  She' had  been 
proud  and  fientitive  of  old,  and  now  the  wife  of  two  vcwim^ 


I 

if;/' 

H 

■I 


-Hi 


•i 


-f; 


I 


A 


!.- 

It  eiioiigh*'  at 
■riagc  was  no 

1  his  inonieu- 
,  and   a  dark 


r  ji^lossed  over 

birth,  thank 
inows.  What 
v}ion  you  lod 
ery  memory. 
'  to  (!over  her 
story  she  be- 
ratlier  than 
than  man  to 

okl  r.ioistnre 
er  all?  Had 
-abhorred  ? 

"From  her 
e  tells  me  to 
lyself  withiii 
dith — a  man 
think  I  am 
.  Bring  her 
ne  go,  and  I 
Id." 
[1  glow  more 

?r  dead  first  l 
whother  h(T- 
she  thinks  it 
idf  a  widow. 
^s,  as  in  her 
ow  what  the 
ivill  kill  her, 
,  the  loss  of 
up  her  head 
you,  should 


i  face  in  his 
le'  had  been 
li  two  rniOK, 


'•Whistled  Down  the  Wfnd." 


51 


.1 


Si 


C 


parted    from    both,    and    th'^    ^rst    a Ho    shuddered 

through  all  hie  frame,  as  he  sat  there. 

The  elder  man  saw  his  advantage,  and  foUoWeil  it  up  piti- 
lessly. 

"You  insist  upon,  seeing  Lady  Charteris?  Well,  if  you  are 
determined  upon  it,  of  course  you  can.  Would  you  like  to 
hear  the  result  i  She  is  torn  from  the  arms  of  her  bride- 
groom— the  story  of  her  folly  is  given  to  the  world — she  i^ 
known  as  the  wife  of  two  men,  until  at  least  it  is  proven  that 
the  first  was  no  marriage  at  all.  If  the  blow  does  not  kill 
her,  she  is  in  time  reunited  to  Sir  Vane,  but  the  scandal  fol- 
lows her  her  li^  long.  Supposing  the  first  marriage  to  hnvo 
been  legal,  even,  a  divorce  can  be  procured,  and  she  is  still 
free.  In  any  case,  all  you  can  do  to  Sir  Vane  is  to  separate 
him  for  a  few  months  from  his  bride,  to  whom  finally  (al- 
ways-supposing the  exposure  does  not  kill  her)  he  will  bo 
again  united.  And  now  for  yourself.  In  the  hour  yon  stavid 
face  to  face  with  Olivia  Charteris,  you  shall  be  giv(ui  over 
tn  the  hands  of  the  law.  For  her  Si§ke  I  spared  you  two  years 
ago — for  her  sake  you  shall  be  branded  as  th(>  thief  you  an*, 
then.  Do  you  know  what  your  sentence  will  be?  One-and- 
twenty  years,  at  le^st,  on  Norfolk  Island.  You*  will  h.-ive 
broken  her  heart,  driven  her  into  l»r  grave,  in  all  probability, 
and  yourself  in  a  felon's  cell.  Now,  choose!  The  way  I'oo 
yonder.  Go  up  to  the  room  above,  you  will  find  her  lh;M.\ 
happy,  by  her  bridegroom's  side.  Clo  up,  I  will  not  lift  a 
finger  to  hinder  you,  and  on  the  instant  you  set  your  foot 
U])on  the  first  stair,  my  servant  shall  summon  the  police. 
Take  your  choice,  Robert  Lisle,   and  quickly." 

lie  drew  out  his  watch;  in  fifteen  minutes  more  the  newly 
wedded  pair  were  to  start  on  the  first  stage  of  their  wedding 
journey.  The  self-command  of  Geoffrey  Lyndith  was  grcjit, 
but  his  lips  were  gray  now,  and  drops  of  moisture  stood  on  his 
face.  He  touched  the  young  man  on  the  shoulder,  cold  with 
inward  fear. 

"You  have  your  choice,"  he  said,  "decide!  Go  up  a!id 
demn  yourself  to  a  felon's  cell  for  life,  or  go  out  of  yonder 
kill  the  woman  you  pretend  to  love,  by  the  sight  of  you,  con- 
door,  and  never  return.    Quick!" 

Robert  Lisle  arose,  and  turned  to  his  torturer.  To  his  dy- 
ing day,  that  ghastly  face  haunted  Geoffrey  Lyndith.  in 
that  instant  he  felt  as  though  he  had  stabbed  him  to  the 
ho;i.rt. 

"I  have  decided,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  "and  may  the  God 
above  judge  j'ou  for  it!  You  are  as  much  a  mnrdorp.r  as 
though  my  blood  reddened  your  hand.  Her  life  shall  never 
be  blighted  by  me;  her  proud  head  brought  low  in  shame 


"'-'«««JH 


■*» 


\2 


At  Half-Moon  Terrace. 


tl'roufili  act  of  in  inc.  Slic  loved  inc  once — nye,  say  as  you 
wii!,  liar  aiKJ  trjiitcn-I — jis  she  never  can  love  the  man  by 
rv'hc-o  side  she  will  sjx'nd  her  life.  I  g'c,  and  as  you  have 
dealt  ly  ns  both,   (Jeoffrcy   I.yndilh,  may  Heaven  deal  with 

lie  raised  his  arm,  and  the  man  before  him  recoiled.  Ife 
vviis  not  sujjci'stitious,  nor  cowardly  in  any  way,  but  his 
he\irt  stood  still  for  a  second,  and  that  cold  dew  shone  in 
jureiit  drojjs  on  his  f;ic(\ 

"1  have  eomiuercd."  he  thought,  "and  another  such  victory 
would  drive  me  mad!" 

He  heard  the  door  open  and  shut,  and  drew  a  great  breath 
of  unutterable  relief.    His  enemy  was  gone;  he  was  saved! 


§ 


ClIArTERIX.       . 

AT     IIAI^-.MOUX     Tl.KItACE.  V 

Ti»e  interview  had  occupied  half  an  hour  precisely;  and 
during  that  half-hour.  Sir  Vane  Chartcris  sat  amid  his  wed- 
ding gu'ests,  and  ate,  and  draids,  and  laughed,  and  was  vse- 
renely  courteous  to  all,  while  a-  horrible  dread  filled  him. 
l^xcept  for  that  one  instant.,  his  face  never  blanched,  Mever 
altered.  Does  the  old  blood  tell  (the  Charteris  family  had 
been  baronets  since  James  I.),  or  are  they  only  true  to  the 
traditions  and  codes  of  their  order?  The  French  marquis 
arranges  his  necktie,  and  blows  his  smilinjr  adieux  to  his 
friends,  on  his  way  to  the  guillotine;  Sir  Vane  sat  at  the 
bead  of  his  wedding  breakfast,  knowing  that  the  bride  he  had 
so  hardly  won  n  ight  be  torn  from  him  forever  in  ten  min- 
utes, and  smiled,  and  jested,  with  an  unmoved  front.  But, 
would   (leoifrey  Lyndith  never   come? 

lie  came  at  last — very,  very  pale,  everybody  noticed,  but 
quite  calm.  He  apologized  with  courtly  fluency,  for  his  ex- 
traordinary absence  at  such  a  time,  and  resumed  his  place 'at 
his  own  tabl(\  Sir  Vane  never  glanced  at  him  after  the  first 
monienh  and  the  nu])tial  breakfast  went  on,  and  came  to  an 
end  at  "ast.  At  last!  To  the  bridegroom  it  seemed  an  eter- 
nity sitice  he  had  sat  down.  The  bride  went  upstairs,  to 
}>ut  Oil  her  traveling  dress — then  for  a  few  seconds  Sir  Vane 
got  Mr.   Lyndith  alone  in  a  recess  of  one  of  the  windows. 

"He  is  gone  ^"  he  asked. 

"(lone.  and  forever,"  Geoffrey  Lyndith  answered.  "I  have 
coiuiuered  as  T  did  before.  Of  his  own  free  will,  he  has  left 
the  house,  the  country,  and  her  forever.  If  quite  convenient, 
my  dear  nephew,  I  will  take  that  promised  cheek." 


1 

i 


At  Half-Moon  Terrnct, 


) 


3,  say  as  you 
tlie  man  by 
as  you  have 

^en  chml  with 

recoiled.  Tfe 
way,  but  his 
Jew   shone  in 

•  such  victory 

I  prcat  breath 
was  saved ! 


•heck 


►reeisely ;  and 
unid  his  wed- 
,  and  was  se- 
id  filled  him. 
mched,  mever 
s  family  had 
y  true  to  the 
mch  marquis 
idieux  to  his 
ne  sat  at  the 
i  bride  he  had 
in  ten  min- 
front.     But, 

noticed,  but 
y,  for  his  ex- 
d  his  place 'at 
after  the  first 
d  came  to  an 
mied  an  eter- 
:  upstairs,  to 
nds  Sir  Vane 
o  windows. 

red.  "I  have 
11.  he  has  left 
e  convenient, 
3ck." 


The  bridegroom    sini'cd   jj^im'hiIv   a^   he  proijiiccd    ihc 
already  tilled  cut,  and  luuuh'd  it, to  his  new  r"!aliv.'. 

**'\  have  seen  Circassians  sold  in  Stausboul.  lyid  (luadroons 
in  the  W(>st  Indies,  but  nev(^r  Circassian  nor  (luadroon  woro 
moif  surely  bought  and  sold  than  your  haU;ylity  little  nii'ce. 
Well,  out  of  such  a  d;»t  as  hers,  one  can  aiTiM'd  even  (lie  pricu 
of  ten  thousand  pounds.'' 

Half  an  hour  later,  and  the  happy  pair  were  otT,  and  away 
on  the  first  stage  of  their  Italian  honeymoon. 

Like  a  man  struck  blind  and  (l(\if,  R(«bert  Lisle  pflsscd  out 
of  the  dim,  green  light  of  ^Ir.  Lyndith's  stately  hall,  to  tho 
broad,  pitile-^!^  glare  of  the  April  noon.  He  stagf.'  >r<'(l  almost 
like  a  drunken  man — a  red-hot  mist  ~\vam  before  his  cy(^ — a 
surging  rush  of  many  waters  sounded  in  his  ears — he  put  hi-? 
hand  as  if  to  ward  off  the  blinding  bright n'ess  of  the  noon-. 
day  sun.  He  descended  the  steps,  and  i)assed  on*,  he  had  for^ 
gotten  the  waiting  hackney  coach,  and  his  new-found  ac- 
quaintance still  sitting  there — he  remembered  nothing,  but 
that  he  had  lost  her — of  his  own  choice,  had  left  her  unse<'n, 
and  forever.  Ho  went  on,  still  blind  and  deaf  to  the  busy  lifo 
around  him. 

"Now,  then,  my  man!  do  you  want  to  find  yourself  under 
my  horses'  fc^^t  ?    By  Jove !  he  is  there  !'' 

He  was  crossing  the  street;  why,  he  could  not  have  told. 
A  carriage  pole  struck  him  on  the  head,  after  he  was  down. 
The  horses  were  checked  immediately:  the  driver  leaped  out 
and  drew  the  fallen  man  from  beneath  his  phaeton. 

"Such  infernal  stupidity!  Is  the  fellow  blind?  T  called 
to  him,  but  he  wouldn't  get  out  of  the  way.  If  he  is  killed 
it's  no  fault  of  mine" — this  to  the  gathering"  crowd — "I  say, 
my  man,  I  hope  you're  not  very  badly  hurt.  CJad!  I'm 
afraid  he  is!     Does  anybody  here  know  him?'^ 

"I  know  him,"  said  a  voice;  and  Duke  Mason  elbowed  hia 
way  through  the  throng. 

I  "I  wish  you  swells  would  mind  where  you  are  going,  and 
not  knock  the  brains  out  of  every  ]x>aceable  citizen  who  tries 
to  cross  the  street!  Hawksley,  my  poor  fellow!  Cood 
Heaven!  he's  dead!" 

He  did  not  look  unlike  it,  truly.  The  blow,  at  l(>as(.  had 
sturuH'd  him;  he  lay  (juite  white  and  rigid,  his  eyes  c1os(m1,  tlici 
blr)od  trickling  in  a  ghastly  way  from  a  cut  near  the  temple. 

"No,  he's  not,"  said  the  young  military  "swell"  wlio-^n 
phaeton  had  knocked  him  over;  "but  he  came  deuced!y  T^vir 
it.  He's  only  stunned.  I'm  very  sorry,  and  all  tlr.it.  y.iu 
know;  but  the  fault  wasn't  mine." 

With  which  the  cornet  got  into  his  trap  again^  with  rather 
an  injured  exprtssion,  and  drove  off. 


^1- 


A  ^ 


♦•  V 


54 


At  Half-Moon  Terrace. 


Duke  and  aiiotlior  man  lifted  the  rigid  form  oi  'the  pros- 
trnte  Hawksley,  and  can'ied  it  to  the  Kansom. 

lie  gave  the  order,  "To  ITalf-Moon  Terrace!"  and  >at  witli 
feelings  by  no  means  to  be  envied,  watching  the  stn-el-*  fly  by, 
njid  the  deathlike  face  of  the  man  before  him,  until  P)loonis- 
hury  was  reached. 

it  was  a  second  time  that  day  a  hansom  cab  had  startled 
tlio  inhabitants  of  Half-Moon  Terrace  out  of  their  normal 
Hiate  of  repose.  And  this  time  female  heads  came  to  (h)()rs 
and  windows,  as  the  driver  and  TJuke  carried  between  them 
what  appeared  to  these  female  eyes  to  be  the  stark  form  of  a 
dead  man.  Rosanna  herself  flung  open  the  door  before  th«'y 
had  time  to  knock,  with  a  face  lu^r  brother  did  not  ohoose  to 
look  at;  and  Robert  Ilawksley  was  borne  into  the  little  dingy 
parlor,  then  into  the  little  dingy  bedroom  adjoining,  and  laid 
on  Duke's  own  neat,  plump  bed. 

The  driver  was  paid  and  dismissed,  and  the  tug  of  war 
very  near.  Duke  had  to  look  at  his  long-suffering  .sister  now, 
and  the  expression  of  that  stony  face  might  have  frightened  a 
braver  man. 

"Oh,  Rosanna!  don't  scold.  I  could  not  help  it,  upon  my 
sacred  honor,  I  couldn't!"  Duke  cried  in  a  sort  of  frenzy;  '*if 
you'll  just  listen  half  a  minute  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

And  thereupon,  for  the  second  time  that  day,  Duke  poun  «1 
out  the  story  of  his  adventure  into  the  wondering  ears  of 
Rosanna. 

"Xow,  could  I  help  it — could  I?  I  put  it  to  yourself,  Ro- 
sanna. You  wouldn't  leave  him  to  die  like  a  dog  in  t]w 
street,  would  you?  vVnd  he'll  come  round  in  half  an  hour, 
or  so,  and  then  he  will  be  able  to  ,tc  home  himself  where  he 
belongs.  Poor  fellow!  It  seems  t  >:ty  to  see  him  , like  thnt, 
dofsii't  it.  Rosanna'^"    " 

"Go  right  round  to  Mr.  Jellup  this  very  minute;  toll  him 
it's  a  case  of  life  and  death,  and  don't  stand  cliattei-ing  t]]<  r(> 
like  an  overgrown  magpie,"  was  Rosanna'y  an.s^ver;  "th;it 
n:an  will  die  if  something  is  not  done  for  him  ahoitiy.  and 
I'm  not  going  to  have  any  dead  man  on  nl^  krnds.  If  Mr. 
Jellup  isn't  here  in  five  mintcs,  Duke  Maso.^ ' 

But  Duke  Mason  did  not  wait  for  the  L»ompi':^ticn  of  tli(^ 
awful  sentence — Rosannn's  face  completed  it.  He  clapped  od 
his  hat,  and  ruslied  after  his  sister's  f avc  .i'je  practitioner, 
and  Mr.  Jellup  was  there  in  five  minuce^.. 

It  was  Sunday  morning.  Duke  had  -  ii".'idpy  in  snite  of 
Tinsel  &  Spindle.  It  was  hi^  iirst  tr  :'i:^.'t  a?  he  s:it  v.p, 
yawiii.i^'',  ti>  find  the  little  k:t'';iien  gl,  .  i'cd  by  a  burst  of  sun- 
shine, the  breakfast  in  a  state  of  preparation,  and  Rosanna 
grazing  down  on  him  with  a  lace  of  owl-like  solemnity.    Was 


;^¥ 


^■,i 


fold  in  the  Twilight. 


^>5 


•m  oi  "the  pros- 

!"  and  sat  willi 
ie  strcf'W  fly  by, 
,  until  J^loonis- 

ab  had  startled 
»f  their  nornial 
came  to  doors 
I  between  them 
3tark  form  of  a 
cor  before  th«'y 
d  not  ohoose  to 
the  little  din^y 
)ining,  and  laid 

the  tug  of  war 
ring  siste»*  now, 
ive  frightened  a 

?lp  it,  upon  my 
t  of  frenzy;  "if 
all  about  it." 
y,  Duke  pound 
idering  ears  of 

o  yourself,  Ro- 
a  dog  in  tiie 
half  an  hour, 
mself  where  he 
e  him  ,like  that, 

nute;  tell  him 
■hattei-ing  there 

answer;  "that 
m  ahoitly,  and 
k:  nd?.     If  Mr. 

ii^/i^tion  of  the 
He  clapped  eti 
e  »ractitioner, 

lf»y  in  vTiite  of 
a-'  he  s:;t  r.p, 
a  bui'st  of  sun- 
,  and  Rosanna 
lemnity.    Was 


ho  in  for  1^  already?    "Was  tho  justice  of  the  king  about  to 
fall?" 

"What  is  it,  Rosanna?"  he  hazarded. 

"Duke,"  responded  Rosanna,  "1  have  something  ver> 
strange  to  trll  you.  That  child  has  a  loek(^t,  with  a  man's 
picture  and  lock  of  hair,  round  her  neck.  Duke,  the  picture 
and  hair  both  belong  to  that  sick  man." 

"RosHuna!" 

"It  is  true.  Look  for  yourself,  if  you  like.  It's  m^ 
opinion  Ik's  the  child's  father!" 

"I  tbiiik  it's  uncommonly  likely,"  said  Duke.  "We'll  try 
ami  find  out  before  he  goes,  Rosanna.  If  we're  to  bring  up 
Aiistress  Polly,  it  strikes  mo  I  should  like  to  know  her  name 
at  least." 

IJy  Sunday  Mr.  Hawksley  had  sufficiently  recovered  to  bo 
able  to  thank  his  friends  and  tell  them  that  ho  must  hnivo 
the  country  without  delay. 

I  Duke  was  tilled  with  curiosity,  but  deferred  making  any 
iii'iuiries  till  the  evening,  when  the  stranger  .voluntarily  told 
his  eventful  story. 


CIIArTER  X. 

TOLD    IN    TIIE    TWILIGHT. 

"You  wonder,  very  likely"  IVfr,  Jlawksley  began,  with  per- 
fect al»ruT»tness^"that  I  should  take  a  journey  all   the  way 
^|across  from   New  York,  and  only  remain  three  or  four  days 
'before   u:oii:;i   i)acK.     You  wiii   \voii(ler  more,  when  1  tell  you 
iwtiy    '    'anic      J  came  to  tin(:  my   wile," 

'  An(i--vov.  have  fouua  her?'  ventured  Duke,  half  alarmed 
it  his  own  temerity. 

'Found   her,  r.nd  lost  her  forever,  in  the  same  hour." 

"Sht   ;-  (ieack"  Kuke  had  hazarded  again. 
Yes.      -If.vvksiv'y    -^aiu     in    r    s-trange,   compressed    sort   of 

):ce.     '''.Dead — dead,     vV\>uld  you  like  to  hear  the  history  ot 

'iit  xLat  nas  been  a  xailure?  I  feel  in  the  mood  to-night  - 
i(<r  the  first  time  ir.  two  years — for  the  last  time  iK^riiaps  in 
ny  lift.  A  romantic  story  my  good  fellow,"  with  a  sort  of 
laugh;  "(»f  how  the  son  of  a  yeoman  won  and  lost  *a  lady  of 
ugh  de^-rce,"  as  the  old  song  has  if.  A  yeoman  son,  educated 
Far  and  above  his  sphere,  bv  an  eccentric  godfather  well-to- 
Ic  in  life,  and  started  to  i^ish  bis  fortune  at  \he  age  oi 
twenty-two,  as  secretary  to  a  gentleman  in  the  House  ot 
/ommons.    I  fulfilled  my  duties,  it  appears,  so  satisiaetoriiy, 

id  was  willing  to  receive  such  very  slender  wages,  thav  m.^, 


■X, 


^6 


Told  in  the  Twiiic:r»  = 


'f 


\i  I 


gc'iitl'.'iiiaii,  who  was  iK'itlur  rich  nor  {^fncrcs,  rej^olv-*  ^  r<' 
tain  ine  as  Iomjjj  as  he  could.  And  wlic.i  tiio  liou)^'  d'^solved, 
he  took  nic  with  him  to  his  couiitiy-scat  <lo\vn  i'  tlu'  heart, 
uf  Stailoidsliirc.  I  nut  her  ih-  w.  'It  is  over  three  years  ago 
now,  but  in  tliis  lio.ir,  and  to  the  hist  of  my  life,  I  will  see 
her  as  j)iainly  a^  I  saw  her  that  first  d.iy,  standing'  t)reast- 
hii^h  ami;!  tlie  waves  of  l)arley,  her  hamls  full  of  (.'om-tlowers 
and  pupjiics,  h(  r  wliite  dre-s  wavinji'  in  the,  sweet  summer 
wiiid,  a  ;.';ol<len  «ray  sky  over  her  head,  and  the  rosy  li<;ht  of 
the  Jr.iy  sunset  in  her  fare.  She  was  only  sixteen,  and 
home  iiom  school  for  u  two-numths'  vacation,  an  or[)han 
/leiress,  with  a  face  like  one  of  KaphaeFs  Machnmas,  and  a 
heart — a  heart  as  constant,  and  as  true,  as  the  rest  of  her  sex. 
An  orfdian  heiress,  en^'ajicd  from  her  tenth  year  to  a  har(»net, 
bound  to  marry  him  by  her  father's  deathbed  injunction 
her  very  fortune  depended  on  it — if  she  refused,  that  f(»rtu:i< 
went   to  (  uihnv  and  build  a  L.si)ital  and  library. 

"1  knew  nothin;^  of  the  en{i:;igement — it  ij,  doubtful  whether 
it  \v(tui(l  have  mattered  much  if  I  had;  refill  I  think  iiow  ii 
wouM  have  Loen  more  honest  on  her  part,  if  she  had  toM 
Pie.  She  diiin't'care  for  Iut  attiaJieed  liusband,,  of  course:  In; 
was  )iiuc!i  her  senior— she  rather  disliked  him,  indeed,  iii 
those  early  days.     And  she  loved  me!" 

He  paustMl,  the  smoke  from  his  ci<j:ar  curled  upward,  aniiil 
Kosaniui's  lemon  geraniums,  and  hid  his  i)a]e  face  in  the  fa^!- 
injj  daylight. 

"We  fell  in  love  with  each  other,  after  the  most  approvi .! 
three-volume  romance  fashion,  and  there  vyere  elan<lestii;<' 
meetings,  and  vows  of  eternal  constancy,  umh  r  the  nidoiiligh' 
areades  of  the  old  court.  Before  a  month  had  elapsed.  \s<- 
had  made  up  our  minds,  and  informed  each  other,  we  woul'l 
assuredly  die  if  separated,  and  that  separation  was  very  near. 
She  was  going  to  spend  a  fortnight  with  a  bosom  friend  in 
Scotland,  before  going  back  to  school,  and  after  that  nothini: 
remained  but  a  broken  heart  and  an  early  grave.  iMy  jxm  r 
little  girl!  How  ijretty  she  looked  in  the  gloaming,  as  sIm' 
clung  to  my  arm  and  implored  me  to  save  her.  Salvation 
eecmed  very  easy  just  then  to  me.  She  was  going  across  \'< 
Scotland;  Avhat  was  there  to  hinder  my  following,  and  haviiiL' 
our  marriage  performed  there.  ]*i'ivate  marriage  was  easy  in 
Scotland — no  license,  no  witnes- — a  <juiet  ceremony  .'-ohm 
fine  day,  and  lo!  our  ha])piliess  was  secured  fm-  life.  She  w;:> 
a  little  frightened  at  fir.t,  at  this  high-handed  prone  al,  but 
{.-he  conseijti'd  soon.  We  said  good-b'- — ii  any  of  the  hous<  - 
hold  suspected  our  secret,  I  think  the  eomjwsure  with  whi(  li 
we  parted  must  effectually  have  deceived  them.  She  went  io 
Scotland.    Three  days  after  I  received  a  note  froni  her,    Tht 


I 


'4  n 

?•'  it  \\' 

■f  I 

■ft"  1 


Told  in  the  Twiiight. 


•fl 


re?olv  .'  '-  ir<' 
011'^'  d's-iolvec], 
n  I'  tlu'  lifMrt. 
throe  years  ago 
life,  I  will  se«;' 
Mudiii^'  t)reast- 
nf  eoni-llnwers 

sweet  siHiinicr 
le  rosy  li^lit  <>f 
y  sixteen,  ini«l 
on,  an  orplian 
iitlmmas,  iiiui  a 
rest  of  lier  sex. 
\r  to  a  l)ar(»net, 
(1  injnnction  - 
'(J,  tliat  fortujic 

y. 

)ubtful  whetli*  r 
I  think  now  ii 
f  slie  had  toM 
1.,  of  conrse;  Ik 
lini,    indeed,    in 

1  upward,  ansiil 
face  in  the  fad- 

niost  approvi .! 
■ere  ehnid.cst  ii;i' 
r  the  niiionlif^h' 
iiad  idap>ed.  vs' 
other,  we  woul'l 
1  was  very  ne:ii. 
H)soni  frieinl  in 
tor  tliat  nothiiiL' 
;rave.  iMy  po(  r 
loaniinii'.  as  sIm 

her.  Stdvati'ii 
goin^  across  t'l 
?inp:,  and  haviiiL' 
iap:e  was  easy  in 
ceremony  soitu 
)r  life.  She  w;i> 
ed  propo  al,  hut 
ly  of  the  housi 
sure  witli  whit  li 
m.  She  went  to 
t  from  her.    TL« 


.loxt  moniinjr  T  went  to  my  emi>l<tyer,  an<l  asked  a  holiilay. 

[it  was  the  tirst  hypocrisy  (.f  my  life,  and   1  hunj-vled  over  the 

FinipK    recpu'st,  until   he  looked  at  me  with   wontler.  hut   he 

granted  it.     1  left  tlu;  Court  ostensibly  to  visit  m-   godfather, 

fill  reality  U>  travel  to  Scotland  at  full  speed. 

'On  the  very  day  of  my  arrival,  a  pouring  Septeml)€r  day, 
four  marriage  took  place.  A  su])erannuated  (dd  nnin,  who  had 
'^l)een  ainini-^tcr,  hut  whose  too  strong  proclivity  for  the 
whisky  hottle  had  eausetl  a  susj)ension  of  his  duties,  per- 
^formed  the  ce'eniony  n-adily  enough,  for  a  few  crowns. 
;|^Vc-wc^e  married  ai-cording  to  Scotcli  law,  v/ithout  a  single 
^vitness,  hut  whether  su»di  a  marriage  contracted  by  a  minor 
guilder  such  circutnstances  would  hold  in  Kngland,  is  an  open 
^tpiestion. 

'§  "When  her  fctrtnight  amonr  her  Scottish  friends  expired, 
"|>h<'  rcturiu  I  home.  I  followed  her  in  two  days  after,  and 
Jthings  went  n  in  their  (d<l  way — the  moonlight  walks,  the  >(>- 
ICrct  mei'ting^,  the  nUl  vows,  and  talk,  and  bliss — old  as  Kdcu 
'5-    the  sweeter  always  for  being  stolen. 

•^1  "She  ]deaded  so  hard  uuf  to  be  ^ent  back  to  school  until 
[after  Christmas,  that  her  uncle,  indulgent  in  all  minor  ?nat- 
fters.  consented. 

"The  autumn  pas>ea — suen  a  flden  autumn!  \Vc  had 
[been  four  nu»nths  nnu-ried,  when  our  well-guard(  d  secret  was 
[iliscovtred,  .Sly  empKner  -••'d  nothing — he  was  a  nuiu  ratiier 
to  act  than  to  talk — but  suddenly,  without  a  word  of  warn- 
ing, m^  wife  was  spirited  away.  1  was  .sent  early  one  day  i^n 
a  conunissi(jn  to  tlie  neighborinf?  town;  when  I  came  bai-k 
^  t'he  was  gone.  That  is  more  than  two  and  a  half  years  ago. 
' ^l  have  never  :  een  iier  but  for  one  moment  since,- an<l  that  was 
;,i  yesterday. 

I      lie  ])aused  again  to  light  another  cigar. 

l'^      Duke  understood   him   perfectly.      Tie  was   intens(dy  inter- 
ested in  this  story — far  more  interested  tlum  the  narrator  yet 
knew. 
-^1      "I'here  was  no  scene;  the  uncle  nut  me  (>ven  more  blandly 
.^jxilite  than  usual;  but  T  felt  he  knew  all.     Two  days  after, 
•f  while  1  was  still  unresolved  what  c-ourse  to  pursue,  he  called 
,|me  to  his  study-— his  valet  was  busy  about  the  room,  I  remeiik- 
^^  her,  at  the  tinn^ — and  locked  up  in  his  safe,  in  my  presence,  a 
^  quantity  of  unset  jewel.s,  and  a  sum  (»f  money  in  bank  notes. 
rlt   was   an  old-fashioned  safe,  with  an  ordinary  lock,  by  no 
j_  mcnins  the  kind  in  which  to  intrust  three  thousand   poumls* 
il  worth  (d"  familv  diamonds,  and  six  hundred  pounds  in  money. 
-I  He  was  dictating  a  letter  to  me  wdiile  he  did  this,  and  T  saw 
-4  him  put  the  key  of  the  nafe  in  his  pocket.  .         j 

M     **  'I  am  going  *Q  Swausborougb  this  evening,  nob^nj  ^ 


■''"I 


r 


Ii!i 


58 


To!d  in  the  Twilight. 


w 


said  to  ir.s,  -n  hie  iiuwt  ooiifidoiitial  way,  'and  I  shall  probaLly 
not  return  for  two  days  at  Icabt.  In  uiy  absence  the  care  o! 
this  Bflfp  is  intnistod  to  you !' 

"J  looked  at  him  in  surprise  and  distrust, 

"'Wliy  Irnvc  r,ucli  valuable  jewt'ls  in  the  house?  Why  not 
deposit  tlieiu  in  the  Swansborougli  Bank?' 

"Mis  answer  was  very  careless,  and  quite  ready. 

•'  VHecRuse,  immedTately  upon  my  return,  they  are  to  be 
taken  up  to  London,  to  be  new  set  for  Oliv'a.  Iler  marriage 
«\itli  Sir  Vane  Charteris  is  to  take^rlace  in  Ivy'o  months,  ami 
they  are  to  be  set  aeeording  to  her  fancy.' 

"He  looked  nie  straight  in  the  eyes,  with  a  dark,  sinist<'r 
smile,  n.^  he  said  this,  and  left  the  house.  It  was  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon  as  he  rode  away.  I  recollect  his  turniiit,' 
round,  with  the  same  smile  on  his  dark  face,  as  he  rode  down 
the  avenue. 

" 'WatcJi  the  safe,  Robert,'  he  repeated;  4t  will  be  as  f^- 
cure  in  j'our  keeping  as  though  in  the  strong  room  of  a 
bank.' 

"It  was  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  As  the  dusk  of  the 
bleak  December  evening  wore  on,  the  postman  brought  the 
mail.  There  was  a  note  from  her,  dated  London,  begging  me 
to  come  to  her  at  once — to  lose  not  a  moment.  There  was  tin- 
address  of  an  inn,  where  I  was  to  stay,  and  at  such  an  hour 
she  would  come  to  me  there.  I  never  doubted  that  not(\ 
What  was  my  employer,  and  his  diamonds  and  his  safe,  to  me 
then  ?  I  ran  to  my  room,  i)acked  my  portmanteau,  waited 
until  the  house  was  quiet,  and  that  very  night,  without  in- 
forming any  one,  was  on  my  way  to  London.  I  reached  th( 
inn  late  the  next  day.  A  great  part  of  the  journey  was  per- 
formed in  stageooac  les.  I  waited  for  my  wife,  but  she  nevi  r 
came.  I  waited  three  days.  At  the  end  of  that  time  ther 
came,  instead  of  Olivia,  her  uncle  and  an  officer  of  the  law. 
armed  with  a  search-warrant. 

"On  the  night  of  my  departure,  my  employer,  returnim; 
rather  unexpectedly,  found  the  safe  unlocked,  the  jewel?  ani 
money  gone.  I  was  gone,  too.  Every  imnatc  ot  the  hou>(^ 
was  examined,  but  all  proved  their  innocence  triumphantlv. 
I  wa^  the  guiiry  party  beyond  a  doubt,  and  I  was  followed. 
After  two  days'  search  they  found  me.  I  and  my  bagga'ic 
"Were  to  be  examined.  I  listened  with  astoiiishment  and  an 
ger  and  -^coit:  !  Examine !  Let  them  ex^imine  as  long  as  thev 
pleased'  They  searched  me — a  degradation  I  submitted  to, 
afire  with  ragel  IhGy  examines  my  port«ianteau.  There, 
carefully  sewed  up  in  the  lining,  the  jewels  and  money  were 
found ! 

^^'M^  late  eooploytr  diamiaaed  ibe  detoottvi^    W9  van  hti 


4 


■e. 


I  shall  probaLly 
nee  the  care  o\ 


)use?    Why  not 

eady. 

they  are  to  he 

Her  iiiarriagc 

vv'j  months,  aud 

a  dark,  sinist^'i 
was  tlie  midd!*^ 
ofit  his  turniiii,' 
IS  he  rode  down 

t  will  be  as  r^. 
ong  room  of  a 

the  dusk  of  the 
an  brought  the 
Ion,  begging  me 

There  was  tin 
it  such  an  hour 
bted  that  not(\ 
1  his  safe,  to  me 
lanteau,  wait<'(l 
rht,  without  in- 

I  reached  tlic 
)urney  was  per- 
e,  but  she  nevt ) 
that  time  thcr 
icer  of  the  law. 

oyer,  returning 
the  jewels  aii'i 
te  ot  tlie  lioiK^e 
5  triumphantly. 
I  was  followed, 
id  my  baggasif 
;hment  and  an 
as  long  a?  thev 
[  submitted  to, 
mteau.  There, 
nd  iiion«y  were 


Told  in  the  Twilight. 


59 


Wt 


hii 


lone  iogelher.     Uo   lookrd   at  me  more   in  :'^r>*ow   Mian   in 
tiger;  and  1 — 1  sat  benumbed.     Aly  guill    wivj.  plain;   there 
^f-re   the   jewels   and    money — the   nuniinT   of    tlu'    in»t(.'.s    ail 
iken  ajid  found  to  correspond.     What  hail  J  to  .viy  tin*  njy- 
f'lf  that  1  should  ii'  t  be  handed  over  lo  the  law  ^     1  had  not 
word.     1  sat  stunned,  and  listened  to  kim  while  he  talked, 
''or  my  dead  parents'  sake — i  oor  but  hone^t  people — tor  god- 
father's .sake,  he  was  willing  to  spare  me.     On  conditi<m  ihat 
left  the  country  at  once  and  forever,  1  shouUl  not  be  given 
j|ver  to  the  fate  I  deserved — hr.rd  labor  an<l  penal  servitude, 
iriost    likely,    for    life.      His    niece,    who    had    been    greatly 
Jiockcd  by   the  news,  had  begged   him   to   hand   me  a   n"fc; 
le  would  give  me  half  an  hour  to  dcjide  and  to  read  what 
\hv  luul  to  say.     1  tore  open  the  note   is  he  left  me,  still  too 
itunned  to  utter  a  word. 
V    "'She  knew  all,'  she  wrote;  'she  begged  me  for  Iloavcn'-i 
akc  not  t(;  provoke  her  uncle  to  p)*osecute.     lie  was  nuM-ci- 
}ss,  if  once  arousedj  and  everything  was  against  me.     Siio 
Relieved  in  my  innocence,  would  always  love  m(^  and  hv  truo 
i>  me,  but  I   must  fly   now,  and   without   seeing  her.     She 
IJared  not  see  me,  it  would  break  her  heart,  ii  woijld  kill  hfr, 
I  were  arrested  and  condemned,  as   I  wouhl   surely   he  — 
langed,  even,  perhaps.     She  felt  as  though  she  wcrr  going 
lade — 1   must   fly — I   must  fly — if   1  had  ever    loved    her,    t 
?ould  leave  Eng:land  now.' 

"She  gave  me  an  address  to  which  1  might  write  to  her,  and 
^he  would  answer  me,  would  fly  to  join  me  presently— ii.iy- 
ling,  as  that  I  did  not  suffer  myself  to  be  arrested  for  i;ob- 
^ry  now. 

"What  could  I  do?    What  would  you  have  done  in   'ueh  :i 

.^aseif    I  knew  there  was  a  vile  conspiracy  against  me.  of  h(  r 

•^^  making,  'out  I  never  thought  he  forged  those  letters. 

M'o  have  been  arrested  would  have  been  an  end  to  all   hof.n 

Iny  i^iilt  seemed  palpable  as  the  light  of  noon,     hi  a  -t.ite  <»f 

Aulkui  fury  I  accepted  the  scoundrel's  terms — 1  left  l.iTjjrijind, 

J|Bying  from  the  con.sefiueiM'es  of  a  crime   I   had   rn^ver  rum- 

'^.itted — almost  maddened — with  no  hope,  save   in  her  truth 

,4|ind  ii<lelity  and  love. 

;    "1  began  my  new  life  in  a  thriving  Western  village,  vising 

'fast  to  a  populous  town.    For  twelve  months  luck  weni   stewd- 

|ly  agains^    iie;  then  the  tuin  janje.     I  and  anothci   -•tarted 

In  a  l>usim.ia  that  flourished;  we  made  money — the  object  of 

#ny  life  was  beinj^   fast  acconipli-bed — a  sure  and  safe  com- 

•  |.(  tenee  for  the  wife  T  had  left  '')ehind   me.     1   tell  r"U  here 

Jpnljy  -he  plain,  simplr-  facts  of  my  stor>' — of  my  sur- rings — > 

,|[>i  my  despair,  at  times,  of  the   hours  when  I   was  nearly 

i*-  ''ddened  by  failure.  Mid  hs  the  loss  of  all  man  holds  dear — 


..-m^t.     «E-'Av  AV^iT'alMi 


60 


Told  in  the  Twilight. 


I  t(.'ll  you  notliiiiff  rf  wliat  Hlccplcss  ni>::lit>  iiwl  wnMchoil  dft\  « 
her  Hiicin'OMii'l  my  •<us|hmis<   caused  nir.     For  sli(»  ncviT  wro'i 
—  no  Ictlcr  c.Miu?  frojii  Iht  to  ili(>  nildrcss  in  London  to  hr  (i<v 
wurdi'd  to  nic.      I  wrote  awjiin   and   a^ain   to   tliat   address 
llic   Irtters   lay    unealled    for.      It    was    worse    than    useh-ss   t( 
write  to  her  to  tlie  Conrt;   I  kix'W  her  luiele  well  enon^h  ii 
be  sure  tlu-y  wonld  never  roach  licr.    '1  hen  J  resolvei'  m)  throv 
up  everything,   the   tide   in    tny   alTairs   tliat   was  l;\idinfj:  lu" 
slov.-iy    alon;^   t(»    fortune,    anil    rush    hack    lo    Fn^land,   an-i 
brave  all,  aiul  claim  \\vr. 

"And  vou  fonnd  hcr^"  Duke  breathlessly  crie<b 

lvob(  rt  ilawl;s1<'y  made  no  reply.  His  la->t  eiji.ir  h.id  hec 
smoked  out;  h'_'  sat  like  a  statue  of  black  marh'e  amid  th' 
flo\v(  rs. 

"Vou   fonnd   Iht,"   Duke  rcj)oated,  unable   to  contain  h.i'n 
self,  "a   bride!      Vou   found  in  r  at  the  altar,  another  man'- 
wife!" 

llawksley,  the  least  excited  of  tin;  two,  turned  aiul  looked 
at  him.  * 

"How  do  you  know  thatT'  he  asked. 

"I  know  more  than  you  think,"  said  Duke,  still  excited 
"^'ou  found  her  married  to  Sir  \'ane  (Miarteris.  I  ha\ 
lieard  tihat  you  had  a  sinfzrular  vision.  Jt  ne(Hls  uo  inler- 
pretatiou.  The  lady  you  saiw  in  your  vision  was  W'l-. 
Olivia  Lyudith;  and  on  that  very  nif?ht — the  twenty-tilV'i 
of  last  month, — I  saw,  and  heard  in  r(vdit\-  what  you  saw  aini 
heard  in   that  singular  vision." 

Kobert  Hawksley  was  fully  aroused  now.  lie  had  told  lii-J 
story  dreamily,  as  much  to  himself  as  to  Duke,  IIi>^  taniK'ii 
face  flushed  deep  red  as  he  rose. 

"What  are  you  saying  ^"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "Vou  vvouM 
not  dare  to  trifle  with  me " 

"Sit  down — sit   down!"   Duke   interrupted.     "I'll   tell    yon 
the  whole  affair.     It's  tin*  stranf.rest,  the  most  wonderful  thirij: 
that   ever   was   heard   of.     Uood   gracious!    what    would    Iv«i 
sanna  say  ?"  j 

Then  Duke  Mason,  with  breathless  volubility,  (piite  unlik' 
hiniself,  poured  into  the  listener's  ear  the  story  of  the  night 
of  the  twenty-fifth  of  March,  every  word  he  had   heard,  all 
he   had   seen,   up   to    the  moment   of  (ieotTrey   Lyndith's  1.  i 
pearanee  at  the  waiting-roam  of  the  Speekbaven  station. 

'^Auil  now!"  he  concluded,  out  of  breath,  ajid  jrlowing  with 
triumidi,  "what  do  y<iu  think  of  that?  Are  you  satisfied  now 
that  <])('  always  loved  you — always  wa-  true  to  you?" 

The  darkness  hid  the  uiarble  pallor  that  had  fallen  once 
more  on  Hawksley's  face.  Only  the  tremor  in  big  voice  be- 
tokened what  he  f«lt,  when  he  answere'l :  ,,    .. 


ToU  in  the  Twiliuni 


61 


w  never  wrolc 
i(!(>n  |(t  he  f<>r- 
li.it  u<ltlress  • 
Kill  Usek'HW  te 
^•ell  (Mioiiph  Id 
')|ve«'  M>  tliivtv 
IS  hM(liii^  iu<- 
lMiw:i;in(V,    uii'l 

ed. 

i;^.ii*  li.id  luMM' 

r!>'e  jiiiiiil   tli'- 

•  contain  liiin 
another  iniui'' 

ed  and  looked 


,  still  excited, 
eris.  I  linvi' 
e<Mls  no  inter- 
ion  was  Mis, 
le  twenty-fiTlh 
it  yon  saw  aini 

ie  had  t(.ld  hi^ 
1  lis  taniu'd 

"You   would 

"I'll  tell  yon 
onderful  thin:: 
lat    would   Ko 

V,  (luite  unlikr 
y  of  the  nighi 
had   heard,  all 
Lyndith's  ud 
a  station. 
^  plowing  with 
I  satisfiec^.  now 
1  you  ?" 
•id  fallen  once 
1  Viig  voice  be- 


"T  don't  tiiink  T  ever  really  douhted  it  -no,  u(»^  "ht'n  I 
Jaw  her  J't  the  altaV  with  that  man,  when  I  listeji  d  to  her 
nii'lo'  falsch  )ods.  ^lay  Heaven's  hlij/ht  tall  upon  him! 
My  /liiiling!  my  darlinrl'  Hi^^  voice  hr<tk«';  he  jnit  ono 
jiand  up  over  hi'^  face,  evi'u  in  the  darkness.  For  a  moment 
llcjid  ^iIenco  fel^ 

Mr.  MaH(Ui,  not  uvea  to  this  sort  of  stroiij^'  emotion  off 
the  staM'e  <d*  the  1-ritannia,  felt  exeee<liiiply  uncoml'ortahl(>. 

ilawksley  hroke  th.    sileiu  e,  and  looked  up. 

"I  heji:  your  i)i'rdon,"  he  said,  iiuietly,  in  his  usual  tone; 
Kvill  yovi  tell  UK   what  arj^ument   Ix'r  un(de  n>ed   to  in<lnco 
lier  to  yiold,  and  go  with  him?     You  say  slu^  detied  him  at 
irst,  and  was  res<il"t<ly  heiit  on  going  with  you." 

*'Sh(!  was,"  Duke  said.  "It  i)U//le(l  me  f<»r  the  tinu  .  hut  I 
think  T  have  hit  c^n  a  solution  of  the  mystery  now.  I  did  not 
[lear  what  he  said  to  her  after  the  first  moment,  hut  there  is 

■:e(iuel  to  my  story  of  that  event fnl  night,  which,  to  my 
^nind,  lights  up  everything." 

Tlu^n  Cuke  went  hackwardj  and  toul  that  little  episode  of 
nne  one  year  and  nine  months  hefore,  when  Dr.  Worth 
lad  heen  ntutod  out  in  the  rain,  to  assist  at  the  hirth  of  a 
)ahy  gir!  at  Lyudith  (irange.  Once  more  Kolx-rt  l.islo 
Started  erect,  and  eager  to  listen,  lie  rcniemhered  the  words 
heoffrey  Lyndith  liad  let  fall,  (d"  a  <hild  that  had  d'lvd  on  tho 
lay  of  its  hlrtli. 

"My  oi)inion  is,''  Duke  sai<1,  "that  old  thike  of  an  uindo 
ihducted  the  child,  and  kept  it  from  her  ail  along;  ami  on 
that  night,  in  the  waiting-room,  promised  to  give  it  up  to 
ler  if  aho  would  consent.  She  thought  you  dead;  .she  wonld 
jacrifice  anything,  like  mo- t  mothers,  fdi-  her  itahy,  and  slu^ 
jonsented  ft  its  sake.  And,"  continued  Duke,  in  a  perfect 
)\ust  of  triumph,  "that  ehild  is  in  the  next  room  I" 

"In  tlu^  next  room  ^"  ^Ir.  Lisle  could  hut  just  rejM^at.  "In 
Ihf  next  room!"  And  once  again  Duke  hegan — there  seemed 
^lo  end  to  the  story-telling— -and  related  tlu^  receipt  of 
[)Mvia's  note,  and  hoW' singularly,  on  her  wedding  m(»rning, 
ihe  had  given  the  child  to  his  care, 

"There  can  bo  no  doubt  whatever  about  it,"  Dnke  said; 
'it  is  the  same  <'hild  of  Dr.  Worth's  tale,  and  y(»nr  wife  was 
le  mysterious  lady.  She  told  mo  plainly  the  <diild  was  hers, 
md  to  UKike  assurance  doubly  sure, .it  has  a  locket  with  your 
bicture  and  hair  round  its  neck,  ^ly  sister  recognized  the* 
likeness  this  morning,  and  spoke  to  me  about  it.  You  saw 
the  child  half  a  dozen  times  to-day — yours  beyond  the  shadow 
)f  a  doubt,     its  ])atprnity  is  written  in  its  eyes." 

There  was  still  another  r.ause.     Duke  got  up  and  lit  the 

mj3 — he  avoided  these  blanks  in  the  conversation. 


6) 


Toid  *n  the  Twilight 


'T:    'otch  Polly  in.  if  you  like— she  calls  heraolf  Polly 
that  is,  if  ahe'rt  not  atileep." 

Hut  Polly  wan  asleep;  and  not  for  a  roKimeut  of  fath«!ra 
wopUI  l^»^allua  have  her  dinturbcd.  She  was  reading  "BiairV 
Srrriioiis''  by  a  s(»litMry  dip  in  the  kitchen,  and  looked  about 
as  placable  and  yiebliniLf  as  a  granite  Mednsa. 

"As  Mr.  Ilawksley  has  waited  ho  long,  I  dare  say  he  cin 
wait  until  morning,"  wa3  her  grim  reply,  as  she  went  l>a<  k 
to  " Blair's  St-rmons." 

"Your  sister  is  right,"  Mr.  Ilawksley  said.  Tie  was  whi  •• 
as  marble,  and  lookcil  almost  as  cold.  "I  will  see  the  rliili 
to-morrow  to  say  good-by." 

"(«(i()d-by!  Then  you  mean  to  leave  England — to  give  up 
all  eliiim  to " 

"Lady  Charteris,"  he  spoke  the  name  quite  ealinly.  qui!, 
coldly,  "is  out  of  Englan<l  by  this  time,  on  the  first  stage  m; 
her  bridal  lOur  to  Italy.  For  her  sake  T  onee  gave  up  naiin, 
character  jmd  my  native  land;  for  her  sake  I  make  a  great  r 
sacrlfiee  now.  I  give  up  herself.  Think,  for  a  moment,  ■ 
all  that  is  involved  in  my  coming  forward  and  claiming  hi  r 
I  break  her  heart,  I  blight  her  life,  and  in  the  moment  wi 
me<»t,  we  are  torn  upart.  T  to  stand  my  trial  as  a  thief.  I 
am  innocent;  but  I  cannot  prove  it.  It  is  the  old  struggle  ui 
might  against  right.  As  it  is,  she  may  h-arji  to  forget;  hip- 
pi  tu-ss  and  i)eace  inay  come  to  her.  T  cannot  make  her  tlio 
talk  of  Kngland.  I  can't  drag  the  story  of  her  girlisli  iudl- 
cretion    iH'fore  the  world.     She  will    cease   to    think  of  iiiu, 

and   T "     He  clenched  his  hands,  and  great  drops  ston] 

on    his  pallid   face.     "May  God  keep   me    from   a  suicidt;'- 
cowardly  end !" 

His  folded  arms  lay  on  the  table,  his  head  fell  forw.inl 
ui)on  them.  So  Duke  Mason,  with  bated  breath,  and  a  gr-  a; 
compassion   in  his  heart,  left  him. 


"•  '.T 


* 


The   mor!\ing   came,   gray    and   overcast.     A   London   fo;' 
had  set  in,  and  a  sky  like  brown  pajxjr  frowned  down  on  tli 
siiioky  city.     But  little  Polly,  in  her  blue  silk  dress,  bronx. 
boots  and  her  golden  locket  and  flaxen  ringlets,  looked  sun- 
shiny enough  to  light  up  the  whole  parish  of  Bloomsbui; 
*  herself. 

The  strange  gentleman  with  the  blue  eyes  so  like  her  own 
and  t«wuy  beard,  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  looked  into  litr 
small  face;  and  Polly,  who  flouted  Duke  and  Rosanna  ii. 
haughtily  as  tboucrh  she  had  been  Czarina  of  all  the  Kuh 
Bias,  "took  to  him"  ia  a  w^f  that  waa  quite  innttsing.    Sh» 


t. 


Is  heraolf  Polfy- 

[fiineut  of  fathns 
is  reuding  " Blair'? 

and  looked  about 
isa. 
I  dare  say  liP  cmii 

bj^  she  went  back 

id.  Tie  was  whi'-' 
will  see  the  chili 

gland — to  give  up 

uite  ealinly,  quitf 

1  the  fir^t  stag*'  nf 
nee  gave  up  naiiM;, 

2  I  make  a  great-,  r 
f'or  a  moment,  >; 
and  claindng  In  r. 

in  the  moment  we 
trial  as  a  tliief.  I 
the  old  struggle  ui 
u-i:  to  forget;  hip 
iinot  mak(^  her  tli< 
f  her  girlish  in<ll- 

'   to    think   of  im. 

great  drops  stonl 
from   a  suicide'-- 

head  fell  forw.in. 
ireath,  and  a  gp  a: 


t.     A   London   fo: 
3wned  down  on  lli 
silk  dress,  bnui/ 
nglets,  looked  sun- 
ish  of  Bloomsbur; 

^es  so  like  her  own 
nd  looked  into  Inr 
e  and  Rosanna  n' 
na  of  All  the  Ku- 
lite  .imyaing«    Sh« 


Told  i(\  the  Twilight. 


^3 


iissed  ins  bearded  lijjs,  let  him  look  at  her  loeket,  tnld  him 
?r  name  was  Polly,  and  that  *'I)ozy"  was  "all  gone  away." 
"F  ^iipfiosc  her  naine  is  Mary,"  Duke  suggested,  "and  sh» 
tills  lier-"lf  J»„l]y  f<,r  short." 

11  cr  Tiame  is   Paulina,''   Mr.   llawkslcy  said,  quietly.     "I 

iiii   iiuiti'  certain  (>(  it.     Pauline  was  the  nafne  of — of  her 

|i,iN  iiial  grandmother,  and   of  her   mother's  twin   sister — ati 

Id   family  natiie  among  the  Lvndiths.     This  child's  name  is 

Viuilna    i.i>le.     I    took   my  mother's  name  in  America,  and 

li.dl  keep  it.      Let  her  grow  up  as  Mason;  k«'ep  her  with  you 

[Kvays,  unless  her  mother  should  claim  her.     ller  right  is 

luav-  fir^t.  and  fnosf  sacred." 

lie   ki-><ed    the   child   yearningly,    wistfully,   and    y.vt    lier 

)wri.     Half  an  hour  Inter^and  he  had  left  Ilalf-Mo«»n  T(t- 

lec  ff»revcr. 

**Thr  Land  of  Columhia  leaves  again  to-morrow,"  lu;  snid 
Duke;  "T  shall  return  by  lu  v." 

They  shook  hands  and  ])arted,  with  no  !».'»re  words,  and 
le  scene-painter  went  to  the  Britannia.  Tie  was  not  .^enti- 
lerital  nor  imaginative  in  any  way,  hut  all  that  day,  and 
)r  many  days,  the  jtale  face  and  dark  I'yes  of  Kohcrt 
[awksh  y  haunted  him  like  a  gho^f.  The  Land  of  Cnhimhin 
lilec]  on  Tuesday  morning.  On  Tuesday  night  there  cam*' 
letter  to  Ifalf-.Nfooii  Terrace,  addressed  to  Duke.  A  check 
)r  five  hundred  pounds  fell  out  wh<'n  iie  opened  it,  and  he 
Nid  these  lines: 

"You  spoke  of  wishing  to  save  enough  to  purdia.-.e  for  your- 
»lf  a  home  in  Speekhaven,  where  you  said  there  was  a  better 
#»ening  for  you  than  in  London,  It  is  ray  desire  that  you 
tpould  do  so  at  once,  for  my  child's  sake.  Once  a  year  I  will 
•ife  to  you,  and  you  to  me,  telling  me  of  her  progress  and 
Ifare.  I  go  to  make  a  fortune  for  her;  please  (iod,  i.iy 
lugliter  sliall  be  an  heiress,  before  whom  those  wlio  scorn 
'r  now  shall  yet  bow  down.  Let  her  grow  up  as  your  own — 
utter  ignorance  of  her  own  stoi-y.  If  I  live,  I  may  one  day 
#turn  to  Kngland,  and  to  her — \i  I  die,  be  her  father  in  my 
rti  ad.  Robert  riAvvKSMiv/" 

•>  And  so  the  first  chapter  in  little  Polly's  strange  history  was 
3|t"d  and  ended. 


,•    .    -.4. 


ART   SECONL 


CHAPTKR  I. 


AFTEll       ruLHTKKN        YICARS. 


.{ 


And  it  will  bo  the  most  splendid  tiling  ever  scon  in  Spoi  -;• 
faavon,  Rosniiiial  Fij^^ure  to  yoursidf  ynrds  and  yards  >-\ 
Cliinc.-e  lanterns  spai'Ulint;  through  the  trtes,  plashinjuf  foun- 
tains, and  tlie  divine  tnusic  of  Ilohnesdale's  military  bra>-; 
band!  Faney  the  long  tables  jiroaning — that's  the  word  • 
groaning  und(T  the  roast  beef  of  old  iMigland,  and  foamin^' 
flagons  of  ale  I  Faney  ilags  flying,  and  bells  ringing,  an  i 
everybody  eating  and  tlrinking,  and  making  merry,  and  your 
little  Polly  sharing  t];e  glories  of  the  hour  with  the  Hon(H 
able  (luy  J\iget  Earlscourt,  second  and  favorite  son  of  L<>r,i 
JVIontalien,  of  Montalien  Priory,   Lincolnshire." 

"Polly!" 

"Well,  I  mean  as  the  i)rettiest  girl  at  the  feast.  x\nd  Tu 
quite  determined  to  go,  Kosanna,  so  iron  my  white  musli! 
dress,  like  a  dear  old  love,  and  say  no  more  about  it." 

The  spirited  speaker  of  this  oration  stood  in  the  mi<ldl(^    ' 
the  floor,  a  tall  slip  of  a  girl,  with  a  slim   waist,  sunburn* -I 
hands,  and  a  clear,  ringing,  sweet,  young  voice.     The  pp 
tiest  sight  ou  earth — a  fair,  joyous,  healthy  girl  of  sixteen. 

Tt  was  high  noon  of  a  delicious  June  day,  and  she  stood  in 
a  burst  of  sunshine  that  flooded  the  little  parlor,  that  flash,  i 
in  her  short,  auburn  curls,  and  si)arkled  back  from  her  jov 
ous  eyes.  Fourteen  years  ago  you  saw  her  a  lovely  baby,  aui 
now  she  is  an  "English  miss"  of  sixteen.  And  has  the  fair 
baby  beauty  £ully  kept  its  promise  in  the  girl'?  Well,  nt 
first  glance  you  might  be  inclined  t'^  say  no.  Crop  the  flow- 
ing locks  of  the  Venus  AiKidyomene,  give  her  a  sunburnt  1 
complexion,  and  a  smudge  of  dirt  on  her  nose,  put  her  in  ) 
torn  dress,  and  what  Ijecomes  of  your  goddess  but  a  gooM- 
lookinj;  vciing  woman  with  a  i)air  of  fitie  eyes?  Polly  labor- 
under  all  those  disadvantages  at  present,  after  her  n\ci\ 
dusty  walk  through  the  bla/ing  noonday  sun;  but  in  spite  •  t' 
the  smudge  on  her  n(/se,  it  is  a  vi'ry  pr(^tty  nose,  perfect  i" 
shape  and  chiseling.  The  mouth  may  be  a  trifle  larger  th.i!! 
a  rosebud,  perhaps,  but  it  is  a  handsome  moutli,  with  th  it 
square  cut  at  the  corners,  which  niakcg  a  mouth  at  ance  re" 


"■I 


After  Fourteen  Year:>, 


65 


scon  in  Speck- 

and  yarJs  (tf 
plasluufjj  fouii- 

military  brass 
it's  the  word  - 
d,  and  foamiii:; 
Is  ringiiifj:,  an'l 
norry,  and  yo'ir 
•ith  the  Honor- 
ilo  son  of  Lord 
e." 

feast.     And  I'm 
y  white  mushii 
ihout  it." 
n  the  middle  '>{ 
aist,  snnhnnu^'l 
)ice.     The  pr-  : 
irl  of  sixteen, 
ind  she  stood  \\\ 
■lor,  that  iias]iol 
k  from  her  jiyv 
lovely  hahy,  a  til 
.nd  has  tho  fan- 
girl'^     Well,  .It 
Crop  the  flow- 
ler  a  siiiibnnu  ' 
ise,  pnt  her  in   ' 
ess   hut  a   godi 


s? 


Polly  lahnr 


after  her  nici", 
;  bnt  in  spito  ■  ' 
nose,  {)orfeet  i" 
rifle  lar/^er  th;i'i 
lonth,  with  Umt 
nth  at  ance  re° 


luie  and  sweet.  She  niay  be  tanned;  yon  may  sec  a  few 
freckh'S  nndcr  her  eyes,  but  oh,  those  eyes! — so  blue,  .0  radi- 
ant, llashin^  with  lif«'.  an<l  health,  and  fun,  and  misfhicf, 
from  morninj?  till  night!  You  neither  .saw  freekles  nor  tan, 
ojx'o  their  lustre  tlashed  ui)oi5  you.  The  auburn  hair  is  short- 
('roi)iied,  and  all  eui-linfJT  ronnd  her  luvid;  and  standing  there 
in  the  June  snnlighl,  siie  looks  like  a  saucy  boy,  an  anda- 
eionsly  saucy  boy,  ready  for  anything  in  the  way  X)f  fnn  or 
frolic,  from  smoking  a  cigp.r  to  ritling  an  unbroken  I'olt 
round  the  paddock  wi'hont  ^-addlo  or  bridle 

iio^aiuia  sits  before  her — Eotianna,  whom  old  Time  no 
more  dare  aj»i)roach  than  any  other  man.  J''<nirteen  yearr, 
have  left  her  absolutely  and  entirely  inichanged — grin,  of 
as[)eet.  kindly  of  heart,  sharp  of  tongno,  and  a  model  O'"  al' 
tlie  Christian  and  donie.stie  virtues,  with  only  one  wea'.'.nes  , 
and  that— i^ol'y !  Polly,  wdio  ha-^  been  her  torment,  her 
plague,  her  id»»l.  any  time  those  fourteen  years;  whom  sIk 
worries  about  all  day,  and  whose  innumerable  sins  and  ill- 
doings  keep  her  awake  all  night;  whom  she  scolds,  and  loves, 
nn<l  spoils,  and  to  whose  will  she  bows  in  as  abject  submis- 
sion as  her  weak-mimled  brother  himself. 


r 


ly's 


earliest    recollection    is    of    this    pleasant    ei'vht- 


roomed  house,  in  the  suburbs  of  Si)eckhaven,  with  its  lit  lie 
flower  garden  in  front,  its  kitchen  garden  and  paddoel'  in  the 
rear,  its  snotless  whiteness  of  wall,  and  brilliant  green  of 
shutters.  Of  London,  and  "Dozy,"  and  her  bal)y  life,  all 
memory  is  gone.  She  believed  the  story  of  herself  current  in 
tli(»  town — a  very  simple  story — that  she  is  the  orphan  child 
of  doai  old  Duke's  cousin,  dead  and  gone,  and  left  as  the  sole 
legacy  of  the  dying  man. 

"And  a  precious  leg«cy  I  have  been!"  Polly  was  wont  to 
observe  in  parenthesis.  "Duke  don't  mind  my  enormities; 
indeed,  if  I  murdered  somebody,  1  don't  think  it  wonid  sur- 
jirise  or  trouble  him  any,  but  ttiat  jtoor  Uosanmi  I  I've  been 
bringing  her  gray  hairs  (she  won't  dye),  with  soitow  to 
SpeckhavtMi  (\'metery,  ex'cry  hour  sinei^  «he  got  me  fii-st." 

So  P(dly  had  sliot  up,  tall,  slim,  pretty,  healthy,  and  clf- 
willed.  She  had  i)ersisted  in  catching  ev«  ry  disoi-d<T  inci- 
dental to  childhood.  She  had  made  Kosanna  sit  u\^  with  her 
for  weeks  and  we<ks  toi'cther,  and  sh«^  had  torn  nioi-t  new 
dresses,  and  tumbled  off  more  dizzy  heights,  than  any  othn- 
child  on  record.  She  liked  lier  owi  vay,  an«i  'nsisted  «»n 
having  it,  with  an  energy  worthy  a  better  cause,  nn  1  U-  .e  ;,ho 
stood  at  sixteen,  the  prettiest  an<l  wildest  madcap  in  Llncol'i- 
sbire— -a   handsome,  blue-eyed  brunette. 

WitJi  Robert  ITawksle.y's  fi^o  lnui<lred  pounds,  Duke  h;(i 
purchased  this  pretty  oottage,  just  outside  the  large,  h:    • 


^^ 


66 


After  Fourteen  Year*^. 


town  Oi  Si><»C'kh«.vrn ;  aiul  Rosauna's  dream  vvns  i^alized  oi  8. 
eottag:e  in  the  country,  with  flower  garden  and  pouhry  yard. 

Once  every  year  oince  then  Duke  had  received  a  letter, 
containing  fii'ty  pounds,  and  all  of  those  fifty  pounds  were 
safely  nestled  in  Hpecldiaven  Bank  for  Polly.  Mr-  Ilawks- 
ley  had  gone  to  California  when"  first  the  gold  fever  broke 
out  there,  and  last  Christmas,  when  his  letter  came,  was 
there  still ;  but  whether  making  that  promised  fortune  or  not, 
Duke  had  no  means  of  knowing,  and  Mr.  llawksley  never 
said.  Polly  knew  him  as  her  godfather,  and  was  very  muili 
obliged  to  Iiiin,  indeed,  for  his  handsome  presents,  which  con- 
stituted such  a  nice  little  sum  for  her  in  the  bank.  She 
wrotc^  him  a  letter  every  ye^jr  since  she  iirst  learned  to  write; 
but  beyorid  this  of  herself  or  him  she  knew  nothing.  Duko 
still  persevered  in  his  old  vocation,  and  was  scene-])ainter-iii- 
chief  to  Spcckhavcn  Lyceum,  and  portrait  painter  to  the 
town. 

The  fourteen  years  had  glided  on  smoothly,  uneventfully — 
frcin  which  one  evertful  montli  sl^me  out  a  bright  oasis  in 
the  desert.  He  walked  to  L.yjidilh  (Jrange  sometiniL^,  in  the 
gray  of  the  sunnner  evcninr^,  smoking  his  pipe,  and  thinking 
of  that  cold  ]\rarch  nii^ht  o  long  ago,  when  the  romance  of 
his  lift;  began.  Of  J  he  actors  in  that  romance  he  had  never 
seen  anythiiig,  since  the  day  he  had  bidden  farewell  to  Kob- 
t>rt  liawksley.  Of  Mr.  ('coifrey  Lyndith,  of  Sir  Vane  and 
]j;uly  Charteris,  he  never  even  heard  the  names.  They  miglit 
be  all  (lead  and  buried,  so  completely  had  they  dropped  out 
of  his  life.  The  old  Grange  was  utterly  deserted  now;  the 
grim  gateway  would  yield  to  any  hand  that  chose  to  push  it, 
but  few  ever  chose.  Stray  artists  who  thouglit  it  pictur- 
escjue  in  its  decay,  nuide  sketches  of  it  when  the  sun  shone, 
but  after  nightfall  neitlun*  artist  nor  peasant  liked  to  linger 
ill  its  gloomy  precincts.  Those  visits,  and  an  occasiomil  look 
at  his  treasured  opal  ring,  were  all  that  remained  to  Duke> 
besides  his  bright  Polly,  to  keep  the  memory  of  that  past- 
time  alive.  Dr.  Worth  still  told  the  story  of  that  rainy  night, 
when  he  had  been  carrietl  off  bodily  to  the  Grange;  but  peo- 
ple were  getting  tired  of  hearing  it,  and  wero  more  interested 
in  the  great  house  of  the  neighborhood,  ^Montalien  Priory, 
"where  great  goings-(»n  were  this  time  taking  place.  ]j<nd 
Montalien's  second  son  was  just  of  age,  on  the  third  of  June, 
aiid  there  was  to  be  a  birthday  celebration,  and  that's  why 
Polly  s\ands  here  flushed,  an(^  rwinging  her  gypsy  hat  by  its 
rosy  ribbons,  and  talking  witi:  many  gestures  and  vast  intcr- 
ast  to  Kosanna.  '^ 

"Dinner  at  sunset  on  tlie  fawn,  Roaanna,"  the  girl  wa^ 
et^ying,  ivith  her  face  all  alight;  ''all  the  tenantry  and  all  the 


'^ 


\fter  Fourteen  Year 


67 


ized  ol  9- 

iry  yard. 

a    letter, 

lids  \\i  i« 

Ilawks- 

vcr  broke 

nue,  was 

le  or  not, 

ley  never 

ery  muili 

liicli  eoii- 

11k.     vSho 

to  write; 

i^.     Duko 

>aiiiter-iii- 

er  to   tlie 

uiitfuUy — 
t  oasis  ill 
ics,  in  tlio 
1  thinkinj^ 
ainanee  of 
had  never 
11^  to  Kob- 
Vane  and 
hey  niiglit 
opped  out 
now;  the 
to  push  it, 
it  pietur- 
5U11  shoiii^ 
I  to  linger 
iional  look 
to  Duke> 
that  pa<t 
liny  night, 
;  but  peo- 
inten  st;  d 
ni   Pi'i(jry, 
ice.     J  void 
i  of  June, 
hat's  why 
hat  by  its 
>'ast  inter- 
girl  was. 
nd  all  i^ 


•\'-m 


t..  Jespeople  oelonging:  to  the  ^  oiy,  and  ai-  •  idy  tlie  bailiff 
and  Mrs.  Hamper,  the  housekeeper,  like  to  in^it"  beside.  [ 
have  an  invitation  from  both  of  'e^B,  and  I'm  going  with 
Aliee  Warren.  TJieii  after  dinner  and  speeeh-niaking,  you 
know,  and  all  that,  there's  to  l>c  a  ball  in  the  great  entrance; 
liall,  among  tlie  old  chaps  in  armor,  and  the  antlers,  and 
battle-axes,  and  boomerangs,  and  things.  A  ball,  Rosamni — ■ 
a  real  out-and-out  ball,"  repeated  Polly,  with  ov»d  like  soi.m- 
nity,  and  the  largest  capitals. 

'"But,  Polly,  you're  not  the  tenantry,  nor  the  tradcsix'ople," 
retorted  Uosanna,  who,  having  not  an  atom  o\'  pride  for  her  ■ 
eelf,  had  yet  heaps  for  Polly.  "You're  a  young  ladv, 
and- ■'' 

"Fiddle!  I.  beg"  your  pardon,  Rosanna,  but  I'm  not  a 
young  lady.  I'm  Duke  Mason,  the  scene-painter's  poor  rela- 
tion, brought  up  out  of  charity,  and  iioihing  else.  A  young 
lady,  to  my  mind,  is  a  person  likt — like  Miss  Ilautton,  now, 
who  never  toasted  a  muffin,  nor  wasjied  up  tlu^  tea-things  in 
her  life,  i  know  what  I  am — I  wi^h  I  was  a  lady,  but  I'm 
m»t.  And  I'm  going  to  the  dinner  and  the  ball,  liosaana, 
and  as  ifs  my  first  ball,  I  intend  to  dance  with  everylxx^  who 
a>ks  me.  If  one  can't  be  rich  and  aristocratic  themselves, 
il's  pleasant  to  mix  with  peoj)le  that  ai;e,  and  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  are  going  to  dance  with  the  common  herd,  and  bo 
sociable  for  once,  in  a  way." 

Polly's  grammar  might  be  obscure,  but  ]\vv  meaning  was 
clear.  She  was  going  to  the  ball,  and  would  like  to  see  who 
would  -top  her. 

"Well,  Pjlly,  if  you  insist — but  mind,  I  don't  iike  it " 

''Of  course  you  (^on't,  Rosanna;  you  never  do  like  fun  and 
frolic,  and  we're  all  worms,  ain't  we^  Hut  I'm  going  though, 
so  please  hurry  up  and  iron  my  new  mud  in  dre-^s,  for  I  j)n)m- 
ised  to  call  for  Alice  at  four  o'clock.  And,  oh,  Rosanmi!  who 
knows?  perhaps  Lord  Montalieii  himself  may  ask  me  to 
dance." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense,  child!  Lord  Montalien  is  sixty-seven 
years  old,  and  has  the  ^vout.  A  pretty  figure  an  old  siinier 
like  that  would  cut,  dancing  with  a  chit  like  you.  Have  the 
quality  come  down?" 

"Came  this  morning — Lord  Montalien  and  his  two  sons, 
Mr.  Francis  and  Mr.  Guy,  Sir  Vane  and  Lady  Charteris,  an<l 
their  daughter,  Miss  Maud  Oharteris,  and  a  Miss  Diana 
Hautt<  n.  Sir  Vane  and  Miss  Diana  are  both  second  cousins 
of  my  lord." 

Polly  pronounced  those  gieat  names  with  an  unction  good 
\rO  h^'ar. 

"There's  a  l][r.  ^llan  Jane,  too,  aa  art:.  ,  Mrs,  Hamper 


r^ll 


m 


m 


.^8 


After  Fourteen  Years. 


told  me,  who  is  suid  to  bo  paying  attonfioii  to  the  rich  ^liss 
Jlauttoii,  and  all  the  ji^oiitrv  in  the  neighborhood  are  tj  be 
thrre  to-day/' 

.  "I  should  think,"  said  llosainia,  getting  the  muslin  robe 
ready  for  the  iron,  "Lord  .Moiitalien  would  have  made  all 
this  to-do  when  his  eldest  son  and  heir  came  of  age,  instead 
of  this  younger  one.'' 

"Mr.  (iuy  is  his  favorite — everybody  knows  it.  Mrs.  Ham- 
per told  me  the  story.  Lord  M(»ntalien,''  said  Polly,  in- 
l-enscly  interested  in  her  theme,  "was  married  twice — I  heard 
all  about  it  in  the  peerage,  up  at  the  P  "iory.  His  lii'st  wife 
was  ri(,'h,  and  plain,  and  ten  years  oldir  than  my  locd,  and  a 
match  of  his  father's  choosing.  J>ord  Montalien  was  in  love 
V'ith  somebody  else,  but  he  yielded  to  his  father  and  n)arried 
the  rich  and  ugly  Aliss  Huntingdon,  and  hated  her  IWe 
j)«,»ison.'' 

"J'olly!", 

"\V<'11,  1  d<»n*l  know,  of  course — I  should  think  he  did — I 
would  in  his  place  I  But,  fortun:itely,  she  died  two  years  after 
her  mari"i.ige,  leaving  Mr.  I'rancis  and  there  was  his  lord- 
ship free  again.  Of  course  he  innnediately  returned  to  his 
first  love,  an  Italian  lady,  and,  oh,  sm  h  a  beauty!  Her  pic- 
ture's up  there  in  her  boudoir,  and  ^Ir.  (-Iuy  is  her  son.  She 
died  before  a  great  while,  loo,  ami  J^urd  Montalien  has  been 
a  sort  of  Bamfyid  Alore  C'arew  ever  since,  wandering  about 
like  Noah's  dove,  and  finding  no  rest  for  the  sole  of  his 
foot." 

"Polly — don't  be  irreverent !'' 

"And  so  you  see,  Kosanna,"  i)ursued  Polly,  ij.ij'ing  no  at- 
tention, "it's  clear  enough  how  Mr.  (iuy  c(»mes  to  be  his  fa- 
voi'it(\  He  looks  like  his  mother,  whom  his  fath(M'  loved,  and 
Mr.  Francis  k»oks  like  his  mother,  whom  his  father  detested. 
That's  logic,  isn't  it^  ^Mr.  Francis  is  very  well-lookiir^'.  you 
know,  but  Mr.  (Uiy — oh,  Kosanna!  Mr.  (Juy's  an  angel!" 
...With  whicii  Polly  bounced  away  before  Kosanrn's  shocked 
exclamation   had  time    to  be   uttered. 

When  Pollv  gleefully  told  Duke  nf  lier  intention  to  g-^  u- 
the  ball,  and  of  the  possibility  of  her  i)eing  cajilured  by  una 
of  the  grandees  there,  something  rose  in  the  honest  fellow's 
throat  and  nearly  choked  him.  Two  willo  vy  arms  went 
round   his  neck  in  an  iiistant. 

"Why,  Duke!  Dear  old  Duke,  don't  you  want  me  to  go? 
I  ne,  n'  knew  it— why  didn't  you  say  soi  I'll  lake  off  these 
tilings  and  sit  here  with  you  all  the  afternoon.'-' 

He  held  the  hands  that  would  have  flung  the  roses  put  of 
her  belt. 

"Ko,  dueliess,  g\)  to  the  ball,  and  enjoy  yourself — and  God 


At  Montalien   Priory. 


6g 


dJoss  you,  whatovor  hupixMis,  I'll  call  l\>r  you  aftor  tlii^itro- 
tiino,  and  fttch  you  home." 

Ilo  (»ii<Mit'd  the  <iuor  for  her,  while  she  looked  at  liiiii  won- 
der! ii|,Hy,   to   let  her  pass  out. 

"Bui,  Duke,  you're  quite  sure  youM  just  as  lief  I'd  {iro? 
Kosaiiiia  ohjeets,  hut  tlien  llosaiiiia  says  wi 're  all  worms, 
and  objects  to  everything',  excejft  eating  a  cold  dinner,  and 
poiiifj  to  ehurch  three  tinu-s  on  Sunday.  Ihit  if  you  would 
rather  J  stayed " 

"I  had  rather  you  would  j<(» — haven't  I  said  So  ^  Inhere  I 
run  awa./,  I'olly,  1  must  ^ct  hack  to  work." 

"(lood-hy,  then,"  l*olly  said,  and  the  white  dress  and  the 
&liort,  yellow  curls  and  pink  roses  vanished  down  the  stair- 
way, and  Duke  went  hack  to  his  work. 

'i'he  sun  was  low^in  the  west,  when  the  door  of  the  paint- 
inj<-room  was  ilunj;'  open,  and  Kosanna,  pale  and  excited, 
6to(Kl  before  him. 

"Duke,"  she  p:asped,  "I  never  (hou^dit  of  it  till  this  minute. 
I  hoard  the  name,  and  the  truth  never  struck  me.  Lady 
Charteris  is  at  Montalien,  and  l*i»lly  has  ^one  ili  .  ■;  and 
Duke!     Lady  Charteris  is  our  i'oliy't>  motlu'r!" 


iji!! 


f 


'' 


^      .  CIIAPTKK  II. 

AT       MONTAI.IKN       I'HIOUV. 

Montalien  T*riory  was  just  three  miles  distant  From  thr. 
cottage;  its  great  boundary  wall  began  alnuist  where  thtir 
little  garden  ended.  A  vast  and  noble  park  si)read  along  all 
the  way  to  the  right — to  the  left  little  cottages,  standing  in 
I)retty,  ti'im   gardens. 

One  of  tiie^c,  close  t<»  the 'great  entrance  gates,  Polly  en- 
tered. Dozens  of  jx'ople,  in  their  Sunday  best,  with  hai>py 
faces,  were  making  for  the  J*riorv. 

"Alice!  Alice!"  Polly  <'a]led,\is  s!ie  went  np  the  little 
garden  path,  "are  you  r«'ady  T' 

"Ves,  Polly,"  a  voice  from  an  open  window  answered, 
"wait  a  moment   until   I  hud  my  })ar;i.>(>l.'' 

I',  was  the  cottage  of  Matlicw  \Varr<'!i,  th'-  bailitf.  :ui<l 
Matla  w  Warren's  only  (Jaiightci"  was  Miss  M axon's  ch(»en 
iriend  ;!nd  conHdante.  She  can.'-  en!  of  the  vi;ie-wr»'!»l!ied 
doorway  now — pretty  Alice  Wai'ren,  two  ycarM  Polly's  senior, 
re<pl(Mident  in  ai)ple-grcen  muslin,  ami  cherry  ribbons  in  lier 
rich,  brown  iiair.  'J'hei'ci  wer(^  people  who  cali<d  Alic*-  War- 
ren the  prettiest  girl  in  Speckhaven.  far  prettier  tlian  l*o11y, 
who  a!:  thi-       ;.  ,.ition  ago  was  a  tril!'.  l-  ;  ''."u,  and  M^le.  fur 


iii 


'p- 


-  ni     mil      mil  miiai  main^iii 


mtmm 


70 


4)*:  Montc^y  :a  Priory, 


(•ortaii.  tastes.  Alice  was  >oiir  very  ideal  of  a  rustic  beauty 
— plump — rosy — diiiipled — a  skin  luijk  white  and  ro.-e  pink — • 
white  teeth,  light-blue  eyes,  a'ld  al)iindant,  nut-brown  tresses. 

"How  nice  yuur  white  muslin  makca  uj)!''  Aliss  Warren  rc- 
niarl:.d,  with  an  adniii'ing  glaiici',  "Rosanna's  such  a  laun- 
(Ires-;;.  Oh,  Tolly !''  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone,  "I've  f^ot 
suck  a  secret  to  tell  ywii !  (iuess  who  came  home  with  me 
from  Spcf'khaven  last  nigh»  ?" 

"Peter  Jenkins,"  Polly  hazarded. 

Peter  Jenkins  was  a  miller,  and  a  very  worthy  voung  man, 
who  had  been  "keeping  company"  with  Miss  Warren  during 
the  past  twelve  moiiihs. 

"Peter  Jenkins!"  retorted  tho  bailiff's  pretty  daughter, 
with  what,  in  a  heroine,  would  have  been  a  tone  of  inelfable 
scorn.     "No,  indeed!     Polly,  you'll  never  j^ell,  now  will  you  V* 

Polly  protested. 

"Well,  then,  it  was  Mr.  Francis  Earlscourt,  the  HonoraVde 
Franc's  Farlscourt!"  said  Miss  Warren,  her  whole  face  one 
^low  of  triumpli. 

"Alice!  Mr.  Francis!  V>ut  I  thought  they  only  came 
down  tliis  morning."       / 

"He  came  last  night,  and  it  was  almost  dark,  you  know, 
.  Pf?ily;  starlight,  and  that,  and  I  was  all  alone,  and  he  came 
up  to  me  and  spoke,  and  1  knew  him  at  once,  and  he  remem- 
bered me,  too,  thougli  he  hasn't  seen  me  for  four  years.  And, 
Polly,  he  offered  me  his  arm,  and  I  was  afraid  to  refuse,  and 
afraid  to  take  it,  and  he  talked  all  the  way,  and  I  declare, 
I  hadn't  a  word  to  say." 

"What  did  he  talk  about?  J)id  he  talk  like  Clive  New- 
come  or  Ivanhoe,  and,  oh,  Alice,  is  he  handsome?" 

"I  don't  know  what  he  talked  about — my  heart  was  in  my 
mouth,  I  tell  you,  Polly.  He  said  it  was  a  beautiful  even- 
ing, and  that  he  liked  the  coufitry,  and  he  told  me  I  had 
grown  tall  and — and  prettier  than  ever,"  said  Alice,  blush- 
ing. "And  I  think  him  handsome;  he's  tall  and  thin,  and 
wears  a  mustache;  and  has  tihe  softest  voice  and  hands, 
and " 

"Head,  perhaps!"  s;iid  Polly,  irreverently.  "I  wish  T  liad 
been  in  your  place,  Pd  have  talked  to  him,  and  if  my  heart 
got  into  my  mouth  I'd  have  swallowed  it!  You'll  introduce 
him  to  me,  won't  you,  Alice?  1  should  like  him  to  a-k  me  to 
dance"." 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  I  dont  kncv.*,"  resnonded  Alice,  witii  a  sud- 
den cooling  off  manner,  aiiil  a  sudden  recollection  that  some 
people  thought  Polly  Mason  quite  as  good  looking  as  hrv^e'f. 
"I  shouldn't  like  to  mnk(^  so  free  fs  that,  you  know.  It's  all 
very  v.cll  if  they  take  notice  of  ua,  but  it  wouldn't  do  for  us 


"■m 


n 


nt  Monta'ien  Priory. 


7i 


istic  boauty 
ro^e  pink — 
Dwii  trusses. 
Warren  re- 
uch  a  laun- 
e,  "I've  got 
ne  with  me 


young  man, 
rrcii  iluring 

y    daughter, 

of  ineifable 

sv  will  you  r* 

le  IIonoraV)le 
ole  face  one 

only    came 

:,  you  know, 

find  be  came 

d  he  rcm(  in- 

years.    And, 

0  refuse,  and 
id  I  declare, 

:  CHve  New- 
le?" 

rt  was  in  my 
autiful  even- 
Id  me  I  ha<l 
Alice,  blush- 
nd  thin,  and 
;   and    hands, 

■I  wish  T  had 

1  if  my  heart 
u'll  introduce 
I  to  ask  mc  to 

p,  with  a  snd- 
ion  that  some 
in.n"  as  hovsolf. 
:now.  It's  all 
dii't  do  for  us 


to  force  ourselves  upon  them,  lie  r.sked  mr  if  T  wouldn't 
give  him  as  many  dances  as  he  wanted  to-ni^dit;  ami,  l*o!ly, 
do  you  know,  he  said  he  wouldn't  bo  satisfied  unless  he  jj^ot 
every  one.     And  then,  he  jjave  nie  a  look — such  a  look!" 

"I  wonder  what  J*eter  will  say  T'  suj^Kestcd  Polly,  ma- 
liciously, and  a  trifle  jealous,  as  y(nin^-  ladies  will  bo  id'  tluir 
best  friends  on  some  occasions;  "he  has  ijiven  you  looks  be- 
fore now,  too,  hasn't  he?  There!  don't  be  vexed,  Alice,  I 
hoi)0  b  il  dance  with  you  the  whole  ni^dit  long-.  1  oidy 
l)ray  I  shan't  hav<}  to  sit  out  many — 1  should  di'..'  of  vexation 
if  that    Kliza  Long  is  asked  and  I'm  left." 

They  were  entering  under  tlie  great  stone  arch  by  this 
time,  with  its  (•-•ciileheon — two  mailed  bands  clapped,  and  tlh 
motto  Scmp<'r  Fidclis.  This  Nonuan  arcli.  and  one  part  of 
the  Priory,  was  old  as  the  Comiuest  itself — erected  by  tbe 
hands  of  Norman  masons.  An  avenue  a  mile  long  led  to  tbe 
Priory — a  lofty  and  noble  mansion,  jrvay  and  ivv-grown, 
qr.aint  and  picturesfjue.  Tall,  twisted  cbimncws  rear<'d  un 
against  the  June  sk.^,  its  painted  windows  bla/.ed  in  llie  sun, 
its  pointed  gables,  its  lofty  turrets,  where  a  huge  bell  swung, 
and  around  whieh  the  ivy,  many  and  many  a  century  old, 
had  clung  until  its  girth  was  i)retry  nearly  that  of  an  oik 
tree.  Vidvety  glades,  ston(»  terrace-,  wbere  peacocks  strutted 
in  the  sun,  long,  leafy  arcades,  wla^re  cool,  ^reen.  darkness 
ever  reigned,  and  glimps(>s,  as  th(\v  Irew  near  the  house,  id"  a 
Norman  pondi,  where  woodbine  and  dog-  roses  (dust(>r«M!,  ami 
an  open  door,  revealing  a  hall  with  armor  on  the  walls,  «rk;ns 
of  Canadian  wolves,  of  I'luar  be;ii-s  and  Afrie.-tn  lions,  <>n  t!ie 
]K»lisheit  oak  floor.  A  nobb^  ball,  witb  a  grained  roof,  and 
grand  i-tairease,  up  wdiicli  vou  mi'jfbf  drive  a  coach  arui  four. 

"How  beautiful  it  all  is!''  Polly  cried.  "How  splendid! 
IIow  grand!  'J'hiid^  how,  for  <'entnriep  and  centurie-,  it  liris 
descended  from  father  to  son.  all  brave  warriors,  great  states- 
iiK^n,  noble  rirators.  And  we  linve  nevei-  bad  a  granrif-^ither ! 
lIow  glorious  life  must  be  in  (be  world  the.se  peopU^  live 
in!" 

But  Alice  was  not  listening-  [d  tihls  outburst — her  eyes  were 
wandering  in  search  of  some  one — some  one  whom  she  did 
not  see.  It  was  a  pretty  sight,  too,  and  well  worth  looking  at. 
'^I'lie  noble  Priory,  the  sunlit  glades,  sniootii  and  trim  as  a 
lawn,  and  shadowed  by  magnificent  oaks  and  beeclu's,  and 
gathenil  there  nearly  three  bundred  persons,  men,  women 
and  cbiblre!!.  tenantry,  farm  laborers,  servants  and  trades- 
l)eoi)le,  witli  their  wives,  «W(>ethearts  and  children.  And  over 
all  waving-  trees  and  sunny,  serene  sky. 

"Look!  look,  Polly!"  exidaimed  Alice,  breathlessly;  "tliero 
come  the  ;fentlefollis  now." 


I  ■ 


■MMMMl 


7'* 


At  Montalien  Priory. 


t<>(»k  hi: 
"It's 
Polly? 


Mr, 


I'olly  lifted  lur  dronniy  oyos.  Soniothinpr  in  the  ':!:ol(k''" 
I't'jjut^  of  tin'  siciic  stirred  her  heart  with  a  feeling'  akin  to 
jiaiii.  She  looked  up  at  tTie  terraco  to  which  iier  friend 
pointed,  and  L.aw  a  group  of  ladies  and  {gentlemen  looking 
d  n  at  the  aninnited  scene  helow.  "Oil,  Polly!"  h^oath- 
le.-isly;  "I  wonder  if  ho  will  see  lis!  Look!  he  is  coming 
d<nvn." 

A  tall  young  man,  in  a  high  hat,  dross  coat,  and  white 
waistcoat,  ran  <lown  \hv  terrace  stairs.  Two  long  tahles  wen^ 
spread  under  tho  shadow  of  tho  trees,  laden  with  substantial 
viand'',  and  ;  t  the  head  of  one  of  these  he  took  his  plac(\  A 
nionii  ,  ]  I,  and  a  second  young  man  separated  himself 
from  ?(;  ft  j^inup  on  the  terrace,,  and  descended  the  stairs,  and 
Mt  the  head  of  the  second  table. 
C.'-  "  whi'^i  <  red  Alice.  "Shall  we  go  over, 
They — iie  hasn't  seen  us." 

Polly  looked  at  Ouy  Earlscourt  as  he  came  down  through 
the  blaze  of  sunshine,  and  for  years  and  years  after  the, 
splendid  image  she  saw  then  haunted  her  with  reinorsjful 
pain.  She  saw  the  handsomest  man  she  had  ever  seen  in  her 
life — youth,  rather,  for  was  not  this  his  twenty-first  birth- 
<lay?  lie  was  tall,  like  hl'^  brother — like  his  brother,  he 
wore  a  mustache,  as  became  a  newly-fledged  guardsman,  and 
a  certain  air,  as  lie  nioved.  struck  you.  as  similar.  ]](\vond 
that  there  was  no  resemblance.  Francis  Earlscourt  was  fair, 
with  pale-gray  eyes,  and  light-brown  hair,  full,  rath<M'  large 
mouth,  and  a  pale,  retreating  forehead.  Ouy  Earlscourt  still 
worp  his  loose  velvet  morning  coat — perhaps  ho  knew  nothing 
could  harmonize  better  with  the  Rembrandt  tints  of  his  ch^ir, 
olive  complexion,  and  large,  lazy  brown  eyes — eyes  that  liad 
a  golden  light  and  a  dreamy  smile  in  them.  A  strav/  liat  was 
thrown  carelessly  on  his  Vdack  curls,  a  slender  chain  of  yellow 
gold  glimmered  across  his  waistcoat,  and  Polly  clasped  her 
hands  as  she  looked. 

"TIow  handsome!  How  handsome!"  she  said.  "Tfand- 
somer  even  than  the  picture  in  the  crimson  drawing-room. 
Alice,  there's  no  comparing  them— Mr.  Guy  is  a  thousand 
times  the  handsomer  of  the  two." 

"Tastes  differ,"  Alice  said;  "I  don't  think  so.  ITore's 
father — shall  we  go  and  got  a  nlace?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Warren,  tell  us  first  who  are  the  ladies  iip  on  tho 
t^Trace?  T  know  who  they  are,  of  course,  but  T  don't  know 
which  is  which.  That  little  girl  is  Miss  Maud  Cl.artrris,  T 
suppose  ?" 

'The  little  girl  in  tho  pink  frot'k  is  Miss  l^aud  Ohar- 
loris,''  said  the  bailiff,  coming  up,  "and  that  small,  dark  lady, 
with  the  fair  bair  and  black  dress,  is  her  mamma.    The  tail. 


At  Montalien  Priory. 


73 


^1 


1   tlic   ';nl(lt''' 
•lin^?  aUin  to 
1    lior    frund 
?inoii  looking? 
illy!"   l)-oath- 
fic   is  coining 

it,  and  white 
ig  tables  Avcro 
h  siib-stantinl 
his  phico.  A 
raiod  hinisolf 
ho  stairs,  and 

we    Ri)    over, 

Llown  thionjrli 
■ars    aft«'r    tlio, 
th  remorseful 
or  seen  in  her 
ity-iirst  hirth- 
s    brother,   he 
lardsnvan.  and 
lilar.     l>eyond 
'ourt  was  fair, 
rath(M*  lar^e 
^^varlscDurt  s;ill 
knew  nothing 
ts  of  his  clear, 
-eyes  that  had 
strav;  luit  was 
hain  of  yollow 
ly  clasped  her 

said.  "TTand- 
dra\vin,i?-rooin. 
is  a  thousand 


ik    so. 


Here's 


idies  up  on  the 
t  T  don't  know 
id  Cl'.artcris,  T 

s  "J.!^aud  Char- 
aall,  dark  lady, 
una.    The  tall. 


hin  younR"  lady  i-  Mi-^s  Diatia  Kanlfon.  the  ^entlennin  bo- 
;id('  her  is  Air  Allan  I'"ane,  tlic  short,  red- faced.  st<»at  ^M-n- 
IllMiiaji  witli  bhiek  wlii-kcrs  i-^  Sir  Vane  (Miart(;ris-  and  the 
llall,  <dflcriy  pcntlenian,  with  white  hair,  is  my  h  .(l  Iiimself. 
iKow.  you  K'rls,  if  you  want  to  get  a  scat,  come  ah»nfT." 
I  He  1(  (I  tliem,  tn  ]\\<  dani:}it(<r's  inten-c  dcli;rht,  to  tlic  table 
it  whifli  Francis  lvirlsc(»urt  presided.  That  j,'cnt  lenian  h 
face  Huhted  int"  a  smih'  of  pleased  rccngnition  at  sight  of 
dice's  smiles  aiul  blushes. 

"Here,  Warrei.,  where  are  you  going  i*  Miss  Alice.  1  have 
been  looking  for  yon  in  vain  the  hi-t  iialfdiour."  ^'That's  a 
story  to  begin  with."  thought  Polly.)  "Kcrc's  a  seat — 1  in- 
sist upon  it — you  shall  sit  here  and  help  me  do  the  honors." 

He   made   a    |ilacc   for   her   beside   iiim,   looking   almost    as 
nhriiringly  at   her  ('rtmpanion.     But   there  was  no  room   for 
*oi!y.  who  dcfdfired    she  hadn't   '  c»mc  to  eat      nd   drink,   and 
•asn't  hungry,  and  would  wait,     'i'hc  bailifi  let-  'ler;  he  had 

thousand  things  [o  do,  and  Miss  .Mason,  ^-^ai'  r  against  a 
fnige  chestnut  trer'  at  soin(>  dii^tanec.  rcgJiNt  1  \i\t  i)eoplc  on 
[h(  terrace  with  longing,  dreamy  eyes.  .  ,hr  did  not  know 
ivl.at  a  r)retty  f)ictnre  she  made  stjnuling  th  re.  the  slanting 
sunlight  on  her  f«ee  and  short,  golden  h;  '•,  or  that  the  group 
bn  'he  lerraee  s;i\v  her. 

"What  a  pretty  girl  I  what  a  very  striking  face!''  <'X<*laitned 
Vfr.  Allan  Fane,  the  artist;  "ihere  under  the  chestnut.  Miss 
dautton,  by  herself.  Sec,  Lady  Charteris,  yonder.  Like  <>ne 
>f  (Jreu/c's  blue-eyed,   dimpled   bcafities." 

Mr.  Allarr  Kane  should  have  known  be*ter,  certainly,  ac- 
'ustomed  to  society  as  he  wa-;,  than  to  i)raise  om  woman  in 
[he  prc^^ence  of  another,  and  that  other  Miss  Diana  iiaut- 
[on.  Ibit  this  was  only  a  peasant  child — a  pretty  mo«leI, 
()erha|»<      nothing   more. 

Miss    Diana    iookc<l    rather   disdainfidly.      She   was    ji    tall, 

^ery  thin,  very  high-bred  young  lady,  with  pale  features,  and 

m    aristocratically    afjuilinc    no<e — with    (]uite    a    patrician 

look,    indeed.      She    had    three   thou'^and    a    year   in    hei-   own 

'itrlit.  and    t!ie  be-t    bbxid    in    b'ngland    in   her   veins,   hut   her 

jhair  was  getting  thin  at   the  parting,  and  she  was  not  -well, 

pile  was  not  as  yc)nng  as  she   had  be<  ji    ten   yciU'^   ago,   wIk-ii 

jKrst  yiresented  by  her  kinswoman,  the  Duchess  of  Clanronald. 

T<'n  years  had  grme  by,  and  the   Honorable  Diami  was  ili-»s 

'Lmtton    still,    and    tlie   attentionA    of    Mr.    Allan    Kan.     ha<l 

)een  decidedly  nuirked  lately,  and  now  he  stot^'d  here,  and  his 

h'os  lighted  with  the  artist's  fire  as  he  lottked  at  a  wret(died 

[ittle  peasant  girl  as  tliry  nev»'r  lighted  while  gating  on   her. 

Miss  Haufton  raised  \mf  eyeglasses,  and  iiiot  "  crlance  of 
ruel  scorn  acroaa  at  Polly. 


•<^lasf 


^- ■'*<»«- 


74 


At  Montalien  Priory. 


"1  wc*  a  (Ifrwfly.  villii^r  scIk  ol^iil.  in  a  wliitr  irock,  ami 
Imir  cropped  like  a  boy 'a.  1  cotilotss  1  iifvcr  could  !W.>c  gotl- 
dc^'^co  111  niitibunuMl,  ro(i-('lKM*kt'(l  (lairyuiiiidrt." 

Aliss  HaiKton  dropiiod  ju  r  kIihs,  and  walked  over  to  her 
cousin,  Lord  Moiitulitn.  Lord  Alontaiicii,  uitii  a  iVw  more 
cr(»w's  feet  uiuler  his  eyes — a  lilll<-  grayer,  a  little  nxjie  bt)re<! 
by  life  and  people-otherwise  unaltered  since  fourteen  years 
ago,  when  he  stood  on  the  deck  of  the  Land  of  C<>lumhi<i,  aM<l 
talked  to  Udbt-rt  Ilawkslcy. 

Air.  Lane 'saw  his  mistake,  and  knew  his  duty  was  lo  fol 
vlow  and  appease  the  Honorable  Diaiui.  lint  t^he  Honorable 
Diana  was  eight  years  his  senior,  and  sallow  of  conipUxi-Mi. 
and  exacting  as  to  t<'nipcr,  and  in  sjjite  of  jier  blue  blood, 
and  iier  three  thousand  a  yi-ar,  apt  to  pall  sonietinies  on  th<' 
frivolous  iiiiiid  of  a  beauty-\vorsliii»ing  painter  of  four-and- 
tv,enty.  Standing  on  the  terrace  there,  Mr.  Fane  looked  and 
aihnirod,  and  fi'll  in  love  with  INdly  on  tlie  spot. 

A  hand  i<laced  suddeidy  on  his  own  a\\'oke  him  from  his 
trance — a  <'oi«l  hand  that  nta<.le  him  start — and  loi>king  up,  he 
saw  Lady  Oharteris. 

"Who  is  that  girl?"  she  a.^ked. 

Fourteen  years  had  done  their  work  on  Olivia,  Lady 
Chartcris.  Lhc  dark  face  Duke  Mason  had  thought  so 
beautiful  in  the  llickering  firelight  that  March  night  so  long 
ago  was  worn  and  aged,  as  though  sla;  had  sullercd  mucli  in 
her  thirty-three  years.  She  was  fixedly  pale,  the  large,  dark 
eyes  looked  aiiiio-t  ui. naturally  large  in  her  snudl,  colorle>is 
face,  and  the  smiles  that  came  and  nent  were  rare  and  cold 
as  starlight  on  snow.  Her  summer  dress  of  black  grenadine, 
with  g^ild  leaves,  heightened  her  pallor  now. 

Sir  \'anc  and  La«ly('harteris,  outwardly,  were  on  the  jm- 
Hk'st  and  mo.-.t  amiable  terms,  the  baronet  particularly,  who 
on  all  i)ublic  occasions  was  almost  remarkably  civil  and  at- 
icntive  to  his  cold,  silent,  self-contained,  handsome  wife. 

Had  Lady  Charteris  forgotten^ — liad  all  those  years  blotted 
out  the  mcinory  of  her  childhor»d's  roi";;nce- -of  the  young 
hu-.band  -lie  bad  loved  ;:nd  lost,  cd'  the  child,  his  child,  whom 
she  had  given  to  strangers  if  She  »aw  a  sleialer  girl  in  white 
muslin,  her  jirotile  turned  towaid  her,  and  the  sunshine  gild- 
ing her  face,  and  her  heart,  tli:it  had  lain  like  a  stone  for  «o 
many  yeais,  gave  one  sudden  leap.  That  profile !  that  atti- 
tude I  v.jK're  had  she  seen  t^ieia  before?  She  knew,  even  as 
she  asked  the  question,  and  turned  faint  and  sick  for  an  in- 
stant. The  next  she  started  up,  laid  her  hand  ©n  tlic  younpr 
ariist's,  and  asked  the  question: 
i     "Who  is  that  ffirir 

The  girl  moved  on  the  moment,  and  her  face  was  turned 


was  to  fol- 

I  lonoraltlt^ 

fomp'a'xi'iii. 


Ill  from  liis 
kin^  up,  he 


was  Slimed 


At  Mont-iii'^n  Priory. 


n 


lull  toward  them.     Tho  liktiicss  that  liail  ^uuck  on  tlio  hurt 
vi  r:iy    hicly    like   a    hlow,   vaiii>httl.     '1  he    t"u«v   she   -aw    iioW 


>Ol(' 


no    rt'st'inhhiiuc   to   tlial   uflicr    t" 


jH'c  over   w.r('!i 


l.e- 


Im  vitl   ihu  waves  ot'  the  Athiiitio  to   liave  swopt  lor  sixttni 
■  Iicitr.v  years. 


Who  i^  tliat  uirW  >lie   repjattil. 


Mr.   V 


am* 


looked 


ratht'r  siirprisct 


1;  it 


was  somet!iiii;.r  very 


iiiu  for  iny  hul.v  to  lie  mueh  interested  in  anyf hiiiu;.  She 
uns  interested  now— her  lips  were  apart— ^her  eyi^s  fixed  in- 
tiufly  on  the?  fair,  ohildlsh  face  that  sh(»ne  like  a  star  under 
till'  cliestnut. 

Mr.  F.iiie  did  not  know,  would  aseertain,  if  her  ladyship 
l«ll  tiie  slightest  inti'rost  in  the  matter,  lie  was  a  hniKiiiil 
youi:;r  nifm,  with  a  dedicate,  jia'.e  face,  and  slender,  white 
ha  nils,  whiter  and  softer  a  ifood  deal  than  Pvlly's. 


Ot'  eourse  you  (htn't  know 


I.aily  Ohartcris  said,  as  if  t 


o 

linsrlt'  "Iiuiuire?  No,  thanks;  it  is  not  worth  while.  It  is 
a  striking,'  style  of  ])rettiness  for  a  farmer's  daii^hler-that 
is  all." 

Iltr  listless  manner  returned — her  interest  in  the  girl 
secii.e*!  to  faile.  Not  so  ^Ir.  Fane's;  he  ran  down  tin.'  steps 
to  iiuiuire  on  his  own  aeeount. 

If   I   could  get   her   to  >it    to   me   for   my    Rosamond,"   lie 

trik- 


is  a  s 


tlioiiMht,  "Miss  llautton  vould  do  for  Kieaiun'.  It 
iiig  style  of  heauty  l\)r  a  farnur's  daughter,  as  her  ladyship 
>;iys.  From  what  Aral)  chieftain  did  she  derive  that  arched 
instep,  under  which  water  might  How?  from  what  line  of 
Miigjily  wed,  highly  fed,  highly  bred'  aristocrats  did  she  in- 
herit that  (jicrian  protilc,  amf'  that  imperial  pois(>  of  the 
giaceful  head?  If  she  had  ten  th»jusand  a  year,  instead  of 
the  Il((ii.  Diana,  or  half,  or  (luarter  tluit  sum?  Shall  I  g»j  up 
and  address  her;  she  seems  (U'ite  alone  f 


.Mr.   V 


lino  wasn  t  aware  w 


lietl 


ler  or  no  it  were  ncc(^ssary  to 


he  introiluced  to  this  class  of  young  persons;  still  he  Ix-ck- 
oiicd  Mathew  Warren  over  to  him,  and  signitied  his  gracious 
pleasure. 

''I  say,  my  good  fcdlow,  you're  the  hailirT,  I  helicve,  and 
know  ;^1  these  peoi)le,  oi  course.  Who's  that  pretty  girl  over 
tiiere^     Introduce  me."  / 

Mr.  Allan  Fane  was  a  <dever  young  man,  who  had  matle 
his  iiiark  in  the  academy,  and  he  spoke  with  a  langtiid  drawl 
of  high  life,  which  sit 


s  so  grac< 


■full 


y  on  strong  young  men, 


six  feet  high,  lie  was  the  third  son  of  Jcdui  Fane,  iiurchant 
tailor,  I'ond  stnet,  London,  who  was  a  son  of — we'll.  I  sup- 
pose t!ie  hantl.  oiiie  artist    must   have   h.id   a   .Lvandf.uher    in 


reality,  but  he  certaiidy  had 
The   Ilc.icrable   Diaua    II 


none  to  sp(>ak  ul, 
uuitv^u   wanted    • 


.nd,   iic 


m 


\ 


76 


At  Montalicn  Priory. 


(iMiil)t,  im«l  A1I:mi  Vi\uo  wu:^  ^cofMl-lndkliiK',  and  ('lcu"iiNt,  ocyoi  ■! 
(loiibt,  but  if  she  lia<l  l)»'«'ii  aware  ot  lliis  (iisKi'acctuI  tact  (  f 
wliicli  Nvc  li  iv»'  inlOniK'il  llic  reader  in  t'oulideiieo),  l>e  won  I 
havo  been  a'j.it  In  llie  ritflit  alxtut,  \vithi:i  tlie  hour.  Oia.i 
ILiuttdii,  fii  '  eiiusin  of  a  duchess,  and  a  si  fer  td'  u  pei  . 
marry  the  sou  of  a  luerehauf  tailor  I  Wliy,  ihere  were  de.ii 
and  |;-oue-I  laut  foils  iii  the  ^ri'ul  family  vault  who  would  ]i;i\  • 
turned  with  horror  in  tiieir  Rraves  at  the  desecration.  Ih- 
hnd  taken  his  dej^ree  at  Oxford — Siteiety  received  him  an  1 
made  much  of  him.  for  his  last  winter's  picture  hud  been  1 
success,  and  not  evt-n  (iuy  I'larlscourt.  his  iJamcjii  just  nn  ., 
knew  of  the  well-to-do  tailor  of    Moiid  street. 

Mr.  Matiln'W  Warren  performi'd  liis  part  as  muster  of  tli' 
ocremonies,  hy  saying  with  a  tjrin: 

"I'olly  Mason,  here  hv.  Mr.  Fune,  u-wantin«'  to  he  intr-i- 
duced    to  you." 

And  Polly  looked  around  with  a  hri^lit  smile,  and  not  tho 
least  in  life  abashed. 

Abashed!  Wasn't  .Mice  Warri-n,  hei*  friend,  and  l"]|i/i 
Lon^',  lier  enemy,  both  lookin<^'  at  her^  Wasn't  Mr  Kran<  .^ 
Earlscourt  tulkiiiff  to  one,  and  .Mr.  (Iuy.  tin*  hero  of  tho  hour, 
to  tlio  other  ^  And  one  of  the-<«'  superior  beings  had  tak<  11 
t/ho  trouble  to  come  all  the  way  d<twii  from  the  terrace  to  Im' 
introduced  to  her. 

It  was  a   lovely  afternoon,  Mr.    Fane   informed   her,,  an  I 
how  nice  it  was  to  see  so  many  people  enjoying-  tluMnselv' 
80  heartily.     And  how  was  it  Miss  Mason  had  not  dininl,  uii  1 
how  did  ahe  happen  to  be  (piite  alone  here^ 

Mis9    Mason    responded    with    perfect    s(df-p(>ssession    a  id 
candor.     She  didn't  come  for  <linner  at  half  past  four  in  tli" 
afternoon.     She  had  had  hers  at  twtdve,  and  slie  was  alone 
well,  waiting  until   the  ilancinj^-  bcfian.  and   s(jme  one  ask'  I 
her. 

"Thep  you  are  diseiif^ag-ed  I  Miss  Mason,  will  you  honor 
me  with  the  first  tiuadrillef 


II 


onor  lum 


II 


onor 


hii 


I*(dly  l(ii.kt'd  In  sec  if  \i? 


wei'c 


it   Mr.    I'anc   was  (|Uiit;  m  <'arnest-      Ye-;, 
)e  very  much  pleased  In  do  so,  thank  you. 


lauj^hinjJT  at  her,  but  Mr 
J\Iiss  Mason  wouhl  b 

"But  I  shall  not  be  satisfied  with  the  lii-^i  (|Uadrille — I  am 
goin^  to  ask  you  to  keep  all  the  round  dancer  for  me!  I 
know  yon  dance  like  a  fairy.  Miss  Mason.  1  can  always  tell. 
Do  you  k  iow  we  were  wondei'iiif^  who  you  could  l.>e  uj)  on  tliu 
terrace — you  look  so  different,  so  much  suj)eri(ii',  if  \(»u  wlli 
pardon  me  saying-  so,  to  the  n'sL  Lady  ('harti  ris  w.u.  q\ii''' 
inter(^st('d.  She  asked  me  if  1  knew  wlio  y(m  v. ere.  If  y  ; 
will  accept  my  arm.  .Miss  Mason,  ^we  will  take  a  turn  umh  ; 
the  bee«Jies;  it  is  pleasanter  thai.  atandiuK  here  in  the  sun 


0ifm 

1 
tor 

c.n 

tin 

( 

1    1 

At  Montnlien  Priory. 


77 


iccful  t'acrt  (of 

i('f>).  l'<'  wouM 

hour.     Uiiiii.t 

Irr  «il'  a   JK'<  ,, 

n'c;  \V('r<'  tlcail- 

liu  Wuuld  ii:i\'! 

'cratitjii.        lit' 

iv<'tl   liiiii   all  1 

in*  liud  l)L'i;ii    i 

IIKJll    just    IKiU, 

muster  of  tlu' 

ig   to  l«i  intro- 

Ks  and  not  tin) 

ii(i,  and  Kli/a 
I't  Mr  FraiK  > 
To  of  tli(?  lloU;, 
in^-^  had  tak< n 
('  IcrraiM;  to  h." 

rnunj   licr,.  anl 

ing'  th(fnis('!vt> 

not  dincnl,  aii  I 

possession    U'nl     ^ 
last  four  in  tli''  ,J 
he  was  ahjnc 
(jine  one  uski  i 

vvil!  .voii  honi^r    1 

1  sec  if  h,"  we;'' 
earni'sL  Yc-i, 
•  s(»,  thalik  yuii. 
lUadrilU' — I  ain 
ci'^  for  nie!  [ 
['an  always  (ril. 
Id  bo  uj)  on  lilt)  'I 
ior,  if  vou  vviii  1 
•tt-ris  v.:j;.  qui''' 
1  wt-rc.  If  yi  ! 
e  a  turn  undi  ; 
;re  in  tlie  sun 


Polly  L'lst  a  brijfht.  (hJi^Mtcd  uliinrr  up  ;.f  *ho  l^y  on  Mio 
Itcrraco  who  (h'lKnrd  to  a-U  ahoui  lnr.  Aik'  'aaly  Cliartrri.s 
Irau^dit  tlmi  ^rlnricc,  and  again  ihc  «>harp  pang  of  rrscndilaiifO 
•  nioh'  her  to  the  heart.  '  , 

( ►li,    who    wa.>    I  his    trirlf       Could    it    l»r Her     face 

iManelied    to   a   tiniy,   ehalky   pallor,    a  stnlden    wiid    tlKiuyht 

T'l^-ed    her    hrain.     Coiihl    it    he^      She   would    be   ab<»ut    the 

Hisr  of  tiiis  ijirl  now-    this  ^firl  so  like — yet   unlike  the  oidy 

lan  >U  lia<l  ev(  r  loved.     Other  eyes  saw  them  as  they  paired 

hit.      Lord    .Monlallen    jail   up   his  ;:Ia-.>     Sir   Vane  (Miarteris 

lanced  at  Miss  Il.iutton  with  a  covert  sneer. 

•I>oo>id  pretty  ^'irl — eh,  my  lord^  Fane's  intlaminablo 
licii;!  has  struck  tire  aifain.  We'll  see  no  more  of  him  for 
ihc  rest  of  the  afternoon." 

;    "I  ^ay,  (jtiy,"   I'Vaneis   I'!arlsc(»nrt   ohxrvcd   to  hi-;  brother, 
^vilh   a    laugh,    wlicn    v*'e   <iuarlrill(>   ended      the   brothers    left 
IIk  ir  partners,  and  chanced   to  meet — '*have  you  noticed  th< 
(;   <•  tlirt.itidii    Pane's  j(ot   up  uiih   that    little  j^irl  with  tho 
di^rt    hair'" 

"What  little  girl^  Haven't  noticed.  As  Sir  Callahan 
!>'nrallahani  observes,  'There's  so  niindi  goiu}^  on  everywhere, 
Ihere's  no  knowing  what's  i^oin^^  on  anywhere.'  I  had  ii 
pretty  jrirl  myself,  but  she  wa>^  ton^ue-t ie<l,  ancf  lisped,  and 
|iev«  r  opejied  her  lips  except  to  say  yeth  thir,  and  no  thir, 
|)|e;ithe,  through  tla^  whole  (hnicc." 

"lane's  paitner  s( cm.s  to  have  enough   to  say   for  lierself. 

tear  her  laugh  now.     Iler  name's  Polly  Mason,  jioor  child; 

I. Ill  what's  in  a  name.     Stilf,  1  don't  believe  we  would  pity  the 

jate   Mr.  Komco   Montague  (juite  so*  much    if   the  lady  who 

jwallowed  the  poison  had  been  Polly  Cajudet." 

<  tuy  Marlscourt  looked  lazily.  'I'lw^  nonchalance^  affected 
)y  Air.  Fane  was  real  enough  in  him,  and  honestly  inherited 
from  }»is  father.  Hie  Italian  mother  had  given  him  !ier 
iplendid  <'yes,  her  black  i^ilken  curls,  and  the  dusky  Southern 
)eauty  of  his  olive  face.  If  .'^he  had  given  him  her  Southern 
ire  and  i)assion  it  all  lay  latent  now,  under  the  languid  gra<'0 
if*his  creed  and  his  order.  At  one-and-twenty  tiiis  hand- 
i>me,  indoknt  young  guardsman  fancied  b.e  had  outlived 
[very  ,  base  of  human  emotion,  love,  jealousy,  and)ition,  and 
\\\\\   liic  held  nothing  worth  living  for,  save  prime   Latakia, 

ind  cigj'rs,  a  wait/  with  a  pretty  girl,  and  a  well-made  bet- 
[jng-book.  He  looked  with  hi.^  habitual  lazy  indilference  at 
ii>  friend,  and  his  friend's  flirtee. 

"Ah,  vaas,  she  is  ])retty,  deuced  pretty,  too  pre Ity,  by  Jove, 
f<'r  FaiK   to  have  things  all  his  own  way.     I  shrJl  make  him 
ntroduce  me  presently,  and  go  in,  and  cut  hlin  out." 

Mr.  Fane  left  his  partner  •n  a  rustic  seat  iii)der  a  txeej,  &nd 


N 


78 


At  Mop*r""n  Priory. 


wont  foi^an  leo,  and  wlion  he  returned,  five  minute*  aiU^-, 
there  stood  Guy  Karlscourt  leaning  over  the  baek  of  tlie  ehair, 
and  Polly  listening-,  and  blushinjr,  and  sjniling,  with  timid, 
downcast  eye.-,  and  cheeks  Hushed  like  the  June  roses  in  her 
sasli. 

Mr.  Fiiiie  looked  at  Mr.  Eiirlscourr — Damon  looked  at 
Pythias  with  an  absolute  scowl. 

"What  the  deuce  brings  you  here?  You  needn't  troubb 
yourself  to  say  it,  I'ane,"  observed  CJuy.  with  the  Bruninul 
nonehiilance  that  siit  so  naturally  on  him;  "your  face  says  it 
quite  i)hiinly  enijugh.  Doesn't  it.  Miss  Mason  U  Miss  Mas.m 
and  1  are  old  friends,  or  ought  to  be,  which  amounts  to  tin' 
same  thing.  She's  been  acquainted  with  my  portrnii-  for  thr 
payt  ten  years,  she  tells  nie,  and  really,  my  dear  fc:.t>'W,  y<iu 
can't  exiH'ct  to  nionoiJolize  the  belle  of  the  oceasioji  in  tin- 
preposterous  way.  Miss  Mason  has  promised  me  unliniiic'l 
dances,  and  she  is  going  to  waltz  with  me  in  two  minutes.'' 

"Miss  Mason  has  promised  mc  unlimited  dances,  Mr.  Earls- 
court.''  ^ 

"Ka^h  i-Tomises  are  much  better  broken  than  kept.  Tru- 
la-la— our  waltz,  Miss  Polly!" 

He  whirled  her  oif,  and  the  last  thing  Polljt  saw  was  th»' 
annoyed  fact  of  the  artist. 

Her  heart  throbbed  with  rapture.  This  was  excitemeiii. 
Two  g<'nt!(>!n('n — gentlemen  actually  quarreling  about  her  ;h 
ready!  ^Ir.  Fnne  was  very  well,  but  Guy  Earlscourt,  the  sni 
of  Lord  ilontalien,  the  hero  of  the  day,  was  a  great  deal  bet 
ter.  And  oh!  how  handsome  he*  was,  and  how  beautifully 
lie  danced.  She  hojied  Eliza  Long  was  looking,  and  dying  of 
envy — Eliza  Long,  who  had  onco  called  her  a  red-haired,  for- 
ward minx ! 

The  waltz  ended  all  too  soon.     And  "I  never  regretted  tlu 
close  of  a  dance  before,"  whispered  Mr.  Karlscourt,  in  her  enr. 
And  he  gave  her  his  arm,  and  brought  ker  refresliments,  and 
before  the  ice  was  eaten,  up  came  Mr.  P^rancis,  requesting 
his  brother  to  present  him,  with  his  suave  smil«. 

That  day  was  a  day  to  be  marked  forever  in  Polly's  cal(*Ti 
dar,  a  day  of  perfect,  unalloyed  bliss.  She  danced  again 
with  Mr.  Allan  P^ane  when  Mr.  Francis  Jvarlseourt  was  don ' 
with  her,  and  she  walk<Hi  with  him  dowi'  he  green,  woodlan  1 
paths,  and  he  quoted  Byron  and  Moore,  and  other  amatory 
poets,  and  the  band  played  nm  earthly  music^  it  seemed  to 
her,  but  the  harmony  of  Olyrajjus. 

TliC  rosy  sunset  faded,  the  white  June  moon  rose  up,  ami 
the  stars  came  out. 

Mr.  Francis  came  up  once  agu::i,  and  aaked  her  to  lead  otf 
a  oontra  danoe  with  liiiu. 


At  Montnlien  Priory. 


79 


'•|] 


s  11 


miiiulcft  aitoi', 
ac'k  of  tlie  chair, 
lug,  with  timid. 
uiie  roses  in  her 

I  moil    looked   at 

needn't  troul)lp 
h  the  Bi'Uinnul 
•(jur  lace  say»  it 
ni  Miss  Alas. Ill 
aniou!\ts  to  tin' 
portrait-  for  the 
dear  fc.t^w,  .you 
occasioji  in  tin- 
d  me  unlimitcil 
two  minutes.'' 
mccs,  Mr.  Earls- 

lan  kept.       Tra-  | 

•llj;  saw  was  the 

was  excitemeiii. 
11^  about  her  ai 
rlseourt,  tlie  som 
1  great  deal  bet 
how  beautifully 
1^?,  and  dying  nf 
L  red-haired,  for- 
mer regretted  tin' 
?()urt,  in  her  ear. 
'fresliments,  aii<i 
iicis,  requestinjr 

in  Polly's  cal(*Ti 
e  danced  again 
seourt  was  don  ' 
green,  wood  la  nl 
1  otlier  amatory 
ic^  it  seemed  to 

on  rose  up,  ainl 

i  her  to  lead  otf 


The  moon  war  «hinini'  now;  t^."  bli'.e  was  a-'di^ter  witli  the 
itars,  and  tiie  «.vening  wind  swii»t  up  from  tlu'  .^ea,  biK  Lady 
Ohnrteris  still  stood  at  her  post,  sti!!  watching  witli  yearning, 
wi.--itu!  evt's  that  slim,  wJiitc  lip  lire  that  luiw  Hit  ted  before 
her.  n(»\v  vanisiied  in  th«3  hazy  distauce, 

A  nunilior  of  visitors — their  (!(mntry  neighbors  -liad  ar- 
rived, and  Lord  Montali(Mi  and  lier  Innband  and  ^^iss  llant- 
tun  were  entt^taining  them.  Her  little  (huighter  raced  up 
and  down  with  a  curly  King  (-harles  at  lu-r  luels.  She  was 
(luitc  alone,  full  of  deep  and  painful  anxiety,  when  she  saw 
(luy  I^arl^•court  lounging  lazily  up  the  stairs.  Sh(>  >topi»cd  in 
her  walk;  he  was  a  favorite  of  hers,  as  he  was  with  all  wonu  u. 

"Awful  liard  work,  Lady  Charteris,"  he  said,  soleniidy; 
"worse  than  a  day's  run  after  the  fastest  pa(d<  In  lh<'  county. 
I've  danced  three  sets  of  iiuadrilh'S,  two  waltzes,  and  oiu  co- 
tillion, and  T  y:ixe  you  my  word,  I'm  fit  to  drop.  Look  at  yon- 
der lighi-hearted  peasairtry  disporting  themselves.  Kgad ! 
tile  energy  with  which  tlieygo  in  for  it  i-^  fat^iguing  only  to 
lodk  at.  1  never  realized  befoi-e  how  thankful  we  should  be 
that  one's  majority  comes  only  once  in  a  lifetiuie." 

He  tinng  himself  into  an  armclniir,  and  produced  his  cigar- 
case,  the  picture  of  an  utterly  e?<h;iusted  young  man. 

"Yon  will  permit  me.  Lady  Charteris^ — ah,  thard-c.-J.  Six 
b.ours  in  the  saddle  on  a  rainy  <lay,  when  the  House  meets,  is 
bad  enough,  but  1  prefer  it  to  three  hours'  conse>cutivG 
dancing  on  tlie  grass  under  a  June  sun,  and  with  smh  nier- 
getic  young  ladies  as  those  down  there.     Where's  Di:'' 

"She  has  gone  in.     Huy!" 

l.ady  Charter  is  spoke  abruptly. 

"Yes,  my  lady." 

"Who  is  that  pretty  girl  in  white  I  saw  you  dancing  witJi 
half  an  hour  ago?  Ah!  there  she  is  now,  witii  Frank — fair- 
haired,  and  dressed  in  white." 

(luy  turned  his  lazy  brown  eyes  in  the  direction  indicated. 

"That's  l*olly,-'  he  auswered ;  "and  Polly's  as  jolly  as  she's 
pretty,  which  is  saying  a  good  d(>al.  That  young  person  in 
white — see  how  she  laughs! — it  does  one  good  to  look  at  her! 
— is  Miss  Polly  ]\Iason,  my  Lady  Charteris.*' 

"Masoi>!"  One  s'cuiler,  white  hand  of  the  lady  reste<l  on 
the  youth's  shoulder.  He  felt  it  close  there  now  with  sud- 
den, spasmo<lic  force.     "Mason!" 

There  rose  before  her  at  the  sound  of  the  conimonplaee 
name  the  vision  of  a  dreary  railway  waiting-room,  a  shiver- 
ing figure  crouching  before  the  fire,  and  a  pale-faced  youn^ 
man  repeating  hib  name  and  addresa,  "Marmaduke  Mason, 
Ho.  60  Half-Moon  Terrace."     She  grew  so  T^'^^e   '^  rigid, 


8o       '^All  Night  in   Lyndith  Grange/' 

th:tt  (Illy  lialf  rcinitvcd  his  cij^ar,  and  looked  af  lier  in  sur 
prist!. 

".My  dear  Lady  Charteris.  yuu  are  ill  I  Has  the  siiicll  of 
my  (MMar " 

"Ciuy,"  slic  interrupted  siiddeidv,  "will  you  ^ivo  mo  your 

arm?     I    should  like  to  jjr(»  down   ilu're — to "     Ilei*  voici^ 

died  away. 

lie  ^a\e  hi-r  his  rni,  with  one  ^'entle  ^lanee  (jf  rt'proaehtiil 
suTprisr',  (|uite  thrown  away  upon  her,  a?;  it.  ehaneed,  and  led 
her  dovvii  below. 


ClIAPTEIl  III. 

"all  XICniT  IX  LVNDITII  (iRANTJ^." 

Tho  nine  o'clock  sunshine  streaming  in  Polly's  window, 
awoke  her  next  morning.  Polly,  as  a  rule,  was  inclined  to 
be  lazy  o'  mornings,  but  brisk  Kosanna  routt^d  her  out  witli 
out  mercy  at  six.  To-day*  she  let  her  sleep.  The  child 
liadn't  got  home  until  half-past  eleven—  t/iree  miles,  y<ni 
know,  on  a  lovely  moonlight  night,  with  a  handsome  .voung 
man  beside  you,  is  a  long  walk.  Rosanna  knew  nothiiLg-  ot' 
the  handsome  young  man,  she  knew  nothing  of  the  1  ts  dur- 
ing whi(  h  little  Polly  tossed  on  her  bed,  and  I'ould  not  sleep. 
Sleep!  The  red,  the  yellow,  the  purple  lights  flashed  befrirc 
her,  the  band  music  clashed  in  her  ears,  and  the  faces  of 
Allan  Fane  and  Guy  Earlscourt  swam  in  a  guldcMi  mist.  Ifer 
breast  was  fidl  of  delicit>us  unrest;  he  was  coming  to-mor- 
row, and  all  the  to-morrows,  and  this  was  blisSj  this  was  love. 
Poor  little  Polly! 

All  this  glad  tumult  faded  away  in  sleep — .-^he  awoke  will 
a  S(»rt  of  guilty  start  to  see  the  new  day's  sunshine. 

|)uk<'  was  at  work  in  hi-;  painting-room,  Kosanna  was  at 
work  just  outside  the  back  do(»r,  up  to  her  (dbows  in  sud.~. 
Polly's  toast  and  tea  awaited  her,  and,  in  spite  of  her  unhap 
piyess  about  her  htoks,  and  her  degrad(Ml  stat^  generally,  sh  • 
ate  thre(>  large  slices,  and  drank  two  eujjs  of  tea.  TIkmi  s]i  ' 
got  her  sun-hat,  and  her  drawing  materials,  and  ])repared  t  > 
make  a  morning  of  it,  as  .she  often  did,  under  the  greenwon.t 
tree  or  down  by  the  shore — sketehii  <*     rum  nature. 

Sh(>  did  not  go  far,  however.  Sue  pt-rched  herself  on  tli'- 
garden  wall,  and  went  wandering  otf  into  a  dreamy  n'verie. 
The  faces  of  ysterday  shone  bofore  her  in  the  sunshine  — 
the  darkling  S))'.cndid  face  of  (iny  Earlscourt,  with  it.s  brow'i, 
brilliant  eye.-,  and  1a;'y,  beautiful  smil<\  The  face  of  Allan 
Fane,  fair,  womanish,  perhaps,  but  eminently  good-looking, 


Of 


at  Iw.v  In  sur 

t  the  snu»ll  (jf 

<4iv(^  iiio  your 
Her  Vdico 

of  reproachful 
uiced,  and  \vA 


)lly'.s  window, 
as  inc'liiuHi  to 

her  ont  with 
p.  The  <,'hil(i 
ee  niileri,  y(ju 
iid^sonie  youiiK 
cw  nothing'  of 
the  1  "rs  dur 
»nhl  not  siee(). 

flashed  hef;tri' 
]  the  faces  of 
ien  mist.  ITer 
oniing  to-nior- 
,  this  was  love. 

Ih'  awoke  will 
iliirie. 

osanna  was  .it 
Ihovvs  m  su(]s. 

of  her  unhap 

j?enerally,  sh  • 
:ea.  Tlien  s]u' 
ul  ])re{)ared  t  > 

the  f^rcM'MWonil 
ure. 

lierself  (jii  l!i<- 
reainy   n'verii'. 

he  sunshine  — 
,vitli  its  hrowM, 

fare  of  Allan 
'  good-looking, 


'^All  Ni.crht  in   Lyndith  Grange"        8i 

and  wliat  Polly  prized  more.  aristoerati<'.  Tali,  liaugiuy 
l)i:ina  Ilantton,  dark,  pensive  J.ady  Charteri-.  little  Miss 
Maud,  with  her  rose-silk  anti  streaniinjj:  rihhons.  Such  hij^di- 
Iji'cd  f;i<'<'s  all;  such  lofty,  iiiph-soundini;-  Maii!e->.  And  sho 
w  IS  I^olly  Mason.     J\)lly  Mason,  hopeU's>ly  vulj^ar.  ;iiid  com-, 

n.'Wi. 

"I  suppose  I  was  christened  Mary,"  the  youn;;  lady  thou;i:lit. 
''Mary's  no  great  things,  but  it's  hetter  than   Polly." 

And  tlien  mechanically  she  fell  to  drawing.  The  fac*'  tluit 
haunted  her  most  was  the  face  her  pencil  drew  almost  with- 
out volition  of  her  own.  1die  pencil  sketch  was  careless  ;nid 
crude,  hut  bold  and  full  of  power;  so  ahsorbe<l  <lid  she  be- 
come over  her  work  that  she  never  h(>ard  anproaciiing  foot- 
st*  if^,  and  a  voice  at  her  elbow  suddenly  maih    her  jump. 

A   very  good   likeness.  Miss  Mason,   but   don't   yon   think 
y.u  have  flattenxl  a  little — just  a  little — our.  friend  (Juy^" 

"Mr.  Panel"  Polly  jumpecl  from  her  perch,  with  a  gasp, 
and  tried  to  hide  away  Ik  r  drawing  in  ovcrwhelmimr  confu- 
sion.t^  What  would  he  think  of  her  ^  Wliat  could  he  tliink 
but  that  she  had  had  the  audacity  to  fall  in  love  with  this 
splendid  young  guardsman,  who  had  asked  h(>r  for  unlimite<i 
(I.Mice-;,  an<l  then  only  walt/.c^l  with  her  twice  ^  Piit  Mr. 
I'ane  set  her  at  her  ease.  lie  <lid  feel  a  twinge  of  jealousy — 
the  sparkling  face  had  pursued  him  in  dreams  all  night — it 
was  such  a  rare  face — such  a  pi<iuant  fac(\  Pretty  faces 
there  were  by  the  score,  but  only  one  Polly  Mason. 

''Vou  promised  to  show  me  thf"  seaside  cave,  where  you  and 
•Miss  Alict.  Warren  used  to  play  I^)binson  Crusoe  and  Man 
I*  riday,"  he  said,  "and  1  have  come  to  claim  your  promis*;. 
.\iid  this  very  afternoon,  Miss  Polly,  f  mean  to  dri\'e  you 
up  to  the  Priory,  and  have  our  first  sitting  fov  tlu'  fair  Rosa- 
motid.  Miss  Ilantton  has  been  also  kind  enough  to  pu^e  f()r 
my  Queen  Eleanor." 

'T  think  Queen  Kleanor  nujst  have  looked  like  that,"  au- 
HW(r<'d  Polly,  remembering  the  haughiv  glaccs  Miss  Ilaut- 
toii  had  cast  n])on  her  hmuble  self  yesterday.  "She  seems  n  ; 
i/hoiigh  she  Could  give  a  rival  Unit  pleasant  choic'  betw'-it 
'he  poison  bowl  and  the  dagger  any  day.  Ko,  thank  yon.  Mi. 
I'ane,  T  won't,  take  your  arm;  people  don't  do  that  in  Speck- 
liavc!!,  unless "  she  stopped   and  blushed. 

''I'liless  what.  Miss  Mason  ■^  I'nless  tluy  are  "m;:iged-  — is 
th.nt  what  y(»u  mean?  1  see  it  is.  Ah!"  v,ith  a  telling  plai!f> 
under  I'olly's  old  -undnit.  "That,  Miss  Mason,  w<iu!il  be  t(to 
rnueli  happiness." 

lie  iv'dlv  thought  so  at  the  moment.  When  thix  youti'.^ 
gentleman  was  fascinatcil  by  a  pretty  girl  he  g-niirally  hui:t«^ 
down  his  prey  with  sumethitig  of  an  Indian  trappei';  inteii- 


I 


,...>,.■.  ..,^„.-.»>..^^■.«B»■^^Ia^^;t~a^.«^T^ 


I 


i\' 


\ 


82        "All  Night  in  Lyndith  Grangt. 

• 

aity.  And  the  artist  must  admire  those  cloiidloes  hlut;  eyes, 
that  angelic  mouth,  those  serene  lines  of  future  beauty,  let 
the  man  olinR-  to  Mi?3  Ilautton's  money-bag's  c^^r  so  closely 

Mr.  Kane,  se«in^  his  danger,  and  wibo  from  past  sad  ex- 
perience, shied  oif  this  dangerous  ground,  and  betook  liiinself 
fo  pleasant  generalities.  lie  was  a  good  talker,  as  talkin?^ 
goes  in  general  society,  aii  fait  of  the  last  new  opera,  novrl, 
ni'Iross,  and  latest  Paris  fashion;  and  all  those  topics  were 
deliciously  fresh  and  new  to  Polly. 

'i'licy  went  into  the  seaside  cave  together,  and  ilin  art'st 
m.idf;  a  sketch  of  it  and  the  girl,  with  the  wide  sea  before 
her,  and  the  sunlight  on  lier  sweet,  fair  face.  AvA  then  Miss 
Mason  sang  for  him,  that  he  might  hear  the  echo  ring  along 
the  rocky  roof;  and  Allan  Fane  won  lered  more  antl  more. 
Such  a  voice — rare,  sweet,  and  powerful.  Slie  did  not  sijiy 
"Tlie  Xight  Before  Larry  Was  Stretched,''  she  ssuig  the  song 
young  Quintin  Durward  listened  to  in  rapture,  s:  many  years 
ago,  in  the  quaint  old  French  town,  and  her  thoughts  let't 
Allan  Fane,  and  an  olive  face  shone  before  her,  lit  by^wo 
brown  eyes —  :he  face  of  Lord  Montalien's  favorite  son. 

"Ah!   County  Guy!   the  hour  is  rigrh, 

The  sun  has  left  the  lea; 
The  orange  flower  perfumes  the  bower, 

The  breeze  is  on  the  sea. 
The  lark,  whose  lay  has  trilled  all    lay. 

P'ils  hushed,  his  partner  nigh; 
Breeze,  bird  and  flower  confess  th  -  hour. 

But  where  is  County  Guy? 

"The   village   maid    steals   I-       ..gh    t!o  shade.     • 

Her  lovrj's  suit  to  hear; 
To  beauty  sh:  .  '^y  lattice  high, 

Fings  higi  •  ijori.  cavalier. 
Th     star     i'  !ov«\    ill  stars  above. 

Now  reig.p  u^r  earth  and  sky; 
And  high  and  low  hi.   influence  know, 

But  where  is  County  Guy?" 

"Here!"  answered  a  voice,  as  the  last  note  dieil  av/ay:  "if 
you  mean  me!"  And  to  the  immense  confusion  of  Polly,  and 
the  unconcealed  annoyance  of  Allan  Fane,  Guy  Earlscourt 
stepped  round  the  rocky  entrance  into  the  grotto. 

"Miss  Mason,  your  voice  is  superl) — equal  to  Lind's,  with 
training.  'Pon  my  honor,  T  thought  it  might  be  Circe  or 
Calypso,  or  those  what-you-eall-ems,  sirens,  you  know,  of  the 
.4-ilgean  Sea,  holding  a  concert  by  mistake  on  the  Lincoln- 
^hire  coast." 

"What  thn — what  brought  you  lierc,  Farlscourt?"  de- 
jipinled  the  artist,  with  no  very  friendly  accent. 

Gay  looked  at  him  lazily  from  under  his  thick,  black  lashea. 


pgt. 

11 069  blufc  eyes, 
ure  beauty,  let 
c^er  so  closely 
111  past  sad  C'X- 
betook  him^'flf 
kor,  as  talkiiijj: 
w  opera,  novo!, 
ose  topics  were 

and  iho  art'st 
viilo  sea  before 

Aiul  then  Miss 
t'ho  rin^  aloii!^' 
lore  and  more. 
le  did  not  ^'wA 
e  sanjr  the  sf.ntr 

S'i  many  years 
r  thouf-'hts  lel't 
lier,  lit  by^wo 
)rite  son. 


lay. 
hour, 

th5  shade,     » 


i\V, 

died  away:  "if 
in  of  Polly,  and 
Guy  Earlscourt 
)tto. 

to  Lind's,  with 
:ht  be  Ciree  or 
n\  know,  of  Iho 
>u  the  Liucoln- 

arlsoourt?"    de- 
nt, 
ck,  black  lasheg. 


11 


thdu^lit   the   most    beautiful    on    c^h.     ''They    will    wonder 


^1^1 


''All  Night  in  I.yndith  Grange.**       83 

V 

"In  the  f'liflracter  of  'Paul  Pry,'  for  this  occasion  only. 
Well,  ray  dear  boy,  don'i  pour  the  vials  of  youv  wrath  on  me 
— I  am  Pcauty's  mosscuffer.  In  other  words,  yon  promised 
t-o  drive  l.ady  Charteris  and  cousin  l)i  over  to  ilealiierholnie, 
after  luncheon,  and  a?  Di  really  seems  anxious  tn  f^o,  1  c'une 
in  search  of  you.  Had  I  known — — "  with  a  ^rlnncc  at  T  'lly, 
but  Mr.  Fane  cut  in  ratln^r  abruptly : 

*'l  asked  ^liss  Mason  to  brinj;;  nu^  lu-re,  tiiat  I  migh!  -sketch 
this  ^nitto.     Shall  wo  return.  Miss  Mason,  or '' 

"Oh,  yes,  please,"  Polly  answered,  shrinking::  away,  she 
hardly    knew    why,   under   the   gaz^  of   the    brown   eyes   she 

the   most    beautiful    on 
where  I  have  ifone  to  at  home.'' 

Mr.  Fane  look<'d  at  Mr.  Earlscourt,  as  if  sayinir,  "Voii 
hear^  You're  not  wanted.  Pe  kind  cnouf^h  to  p:o."  And 
the  younjj:  jjuardsman  answered  the  glance,  and  walking  after 
Polly,  !)e;^an  a-kin^  her  (luestions  about  the  town  and  the 
saiuN,  as  thouf!:li  the  topography  of  Spec-khaven  were  the 
vital  interest  of  his  life. 

Polly  Mason  walked  back  thronj^h  the  noonday  brij;htne-<s 
with  two  gallants,  instead  of  one.  and  fbished  a  look  up«)n 
I'^i'/.a  l.on^r.  as  slie  y)assed  lier  window,  that  aiadc  that  youn^ 
lady  prrind  her  tt^th  for  very  envy. 

"^fontalien^s  b(>en  as  dull  as  death  this  luorninjjr,"  (luy  w:m 
saying,  plaintively.  "Di'sbeen  sulky,  lady  Charteris  a  i-ivy 
ia  frreen  and  yellow  melancholy,  Frank  not  to  be  found  (i 
didn't  look  iji  the  baililf's  cottage),  and  little  Maud  the  only 
human  creature  in  the  place  to  speak  to.  T  think,  consider- 
iu^  the  emergency  of  the  case,  and  the  daniger  1  was  in  ol 
f;dlins'  a  prey  to  the  blue  devils,  you  needn't  look  so  fero- 
cious. Fane,  at  my  seeking  you  out  in  my  dire  necessity; 
need  he,  ^liss  ]\rason?" 

f^olly  did  not  feel  as  if  the  interruption  were  by  any  means 
an  in  1  welcome  one. 

Koth  prentlemen  were  deliprhtful,  no  doi  .  but  Mr.  (tuy 
K;!rlscourt   decidedly   the   more  delitrhtful  the   two.     She 

walked  home  in  a  happy  trance,  and  it  wa-  dl  too  soon  wheji 
the  little  jrarden  j^rate  came  in  sijjht.  Ro>  .una  was  han^inj? 
out  linen  on  the  g'ooseberry  lus^hes,  and  iMike  (rould  be  seen, 
with  his  shirt  sleeves  rolled  up  above  th  bows,  painting'  iti 
his  big,  bare,  front  room. 

The  two  voung  gentlenjcn  said  good-by  to  Polly,  am-d  left 
her.  "Mr.  Fane  m.nde  no  further  allusion  to  the  sitting  tor  his 
Fair  Rosamond  that  afternoon,  (^ueen  Eleanor  wished  him 
to  drive  her  to  lleatherhelme,  t'l^^ht  miles  off,  and  of  course 
siie  must  take  precedence  in  all  things. 

Polly  went  through  her  usual  af ternooi   >  work  of  helping 


k' 


*. 


I 


'Il, 


84 


it 


All 


Kight 


in   Lyndith  Grange." 


iLor-iUina    "rod   up,"   in   ii   state   of  tlreuniy  happiness;    littlr- 
trills  of  iiow'j:  Itnhblcd  to  her  lips,  sraiios  and  dinirjlos  cbafiiii^,' 
each  rtthor  ftvcr  lior  face.     Slio  wa;s  aiway.s  happy,  but  sotjk - 
Jio\v  (he  sun  never  sl:on».'  so  briiihtly  nor  had  lifvT  ever  sooitk  d 
so  sweet   as  to-tlay,     J^o.^anna    looked  at  h^-r,   and  eon^ruiii 
lated   lierself  th^t   sIk^  liad   made   her  go  o'*'"   tliiit    niorning. 
And  prf'scnlly  wlien  t<a  was  (.v(  r,  she  took  her  hat  and  went 
I0  the  Male  t"  wattdi  tlie  new  moon  rise — and  wi^h — what  did 
litth?  INdly   wish?     It  was  very  quiet.     The  new  moon  shih 
'n\[X  iu  the  ojiul  sky,  a  nit^htin^ialc  .-iiigiug  yonder  in  ^lontal 
ien  woods,   the  ^oft   flultgr  of  the  ev<'ninM  wind,  sweet   frosn 
ihe  sea;  tlie  rich  odor  ot  Ro-^anna's  roses  and  jlcraniuins  in 
the  open  window— tliai   was  tlie  scene.     Aiid  fairer  than  all. 
as  ]\Ir.  Allan   Fane  would  hiive  told  her,  had  he  b(>cn  there  fn 
Boe  the  tall,  ^lim  ^irl,  with  tlie  sweet,  haj)py  face,  a!i<l  drean)\ 
ryes  of  blue,  softly  sin^nng  ^'Tlie  V(»ung"  May  Moon." 

As  she  stood  there  a  {M'ouj)  of  four  came  \m  the  road  from 
the  town.  P(dly's  dreamy  eyes  turned  from  that  silver  sickl* 
in  the  purple  sky,  and  l)rightened  into  a  lif^ht  not  so  plertsni.t 
to  see  as  she  beheld  her  arch  enemy,  Eliza  Long.  Mis8  Lou).' 
was  gallanted  by  the  haberdasher's  clerk,  and  behind  cann 
Alice  Warren  and  her  "young-  man,"  Peter  Jenkins,  of  I  In 
mill. 

"Here  slie  is  herself!"  exclaimed  Miss  T.onpr,  with  maliciou- 
'.'ivacity;  "I've  just  been  !'^lling  Samiud  of  ihe  grand  ooii- 
que;  Is  yf»u've  made.  How  are  all  your  friends  al  the  Priory. 
Polly,  di'ar  :''■ 

"All  nty  fri(  ixls  at  the  Priory  were  (luite  well  when  T  snw 
them  last,  Kli/'.a,"  responded  Miss  Mason,  pronipt'y.  "Di 
tell  them  you  in^juired  the  next  time  1  sec  them;  they'll  fe<  i 
flattcre>],  pai'licularly  Mr.  (Juy,  who  danced  with  you— -once, 
wasn't  it,  Eliza?  and  forgot  to  come  back." 

"T  didn'i  encourage  him  as  much  as  some  people  mighl,"' 
retort' d  INfiss  I.ong'.  "I;  <lon't  believe  in  genilemen  boni 
dangling  after  country  girls.  1  should  be  afraid  of  wdi;it 
people  might  say  of  me,"  concluded  "Miss  Long,  with  a  virtu- 
ous toss  of  her  head. 

"Then  you  needn't,  Elixn,  nobody  \\,!1  ever  talk  of  you  in 
that  way.  I'm  <iuite  sure.     ('ei.tU  e  vn  have  such  bad  tasti." 

"Yes,"  said  Eliza,  with  a  hyst«'ri<  .d  little  g'ggle,  "I  thowrbt 
so  tnyself  when  I  saw  two  ef  then;  go  by  Y,ith  yovi.     T  won 
dcr  Posanmi  isn't  afrai<l." 

"Afraid   oi'   what,   Eliza?     I'll   thank    you    to    speak    out. 
Polly's  eyes  ucre  flashing  row.  as  only  blue  eyes  flasli. 

"We  all  know  Polly  isn't  afraid  of  anything,"  cried  thu 
young  man  from  the  haberdasher's,  who  was  mortally  jealous. 


!'    (I 


ige 


tf 


"All  Night  in   Lyndith  Grange 


:* 


85 


fippiiiess;    littlr 
liinr)les  ebasiiu' 
piry.  but  SOT  IK 
l"o  ever  sooiTK  il 
niul  cotigrutii 
tli;it    inoniiup. 
r  liiit  und  wfii! 
w\^\\ — whiit  (li<l 
C'w  moon  shii, 
(Icr  in  ^lontiil 
11(1,  sweet   fro' 
1  pcrjiniunis  ii 
fairer  than  al!, 
le  been  IIktc  f" 
ee,  a!i<l  dreaniv 

>  the  road  froin 
lat  silver  sieki< 
not  so  plertsni.; 
ng.  Miss  Loll-' 
d  behind  caiiM 
Jenkins,  of  I  hi 

with  maliciou- 
(he  jjrand   emi 
s  at  the  Prior.v, 

,-ell   when   T  ?-;!-\ 
|)ro!H|it].y.     "I"' 
em :  they'll  i'ei 
vith  you — one* , 

people  nii^hl," 
lenllenien  Ixmii 
afraid  of  wh;i! 
p:,  with  a  virtu 

'  talk  o|  you  ii 
ueh  bad  lav.ti  .' 
fffx\v,  "I  thou'ilii 
b  yovi.     I  won 


t'l    Hnv^-ak    out. 
?ye8  nasii. 
linfi',"  cried    the 
uortally  jealous. 


*'She  wouldn't  go  tlire*     niU--  out  <d"  her  way,  ;is  Jenkins  did 
last  wec»k.  rather  than  pa?.s  tlje  haunted  (JrauKc." 
"Xo,"  answered  I'oily.  dixlainfnlly.  "1    would   not." 
"  i  hiit's  easy  to  say/'   Mi--.   Long    -<.iid,  with  a  seeond  toss; 
"it's  not  so  easy   to  prove.      l'ol!\'s   ;i-«  niueli  id"  a   '-oward  as 
the  rest  r»f  us,  1  dare  >:iy.  it'  the  truth  were  known." 

'•Till  not  a  coward,  ;ind  I'll  thank  \on  not  to  -.-ly  so,  Klizu. 
I'm  not  afraid  of  you,  ^>y  wh.it  peojilr  inay'sny.  nor  of  ghosts 
either,  if  it    comes   to   tlnit," 

"Trove  it,"  cried  the  t;  noting  d'ili/a,  "prove  it,  if  you  dare, 
I'njly  Masim." 

Mi-s  Kli/.a  Lftnjf  understood  her  antagonist  wtdl.  To  da.'o 
Polly  t  )  do  anything-  howevt-r  nnid.  however  foolhardy,  was 
to  Jii-^iire  its  hein;r  done.  Had  she  not  lisked  her  life,  only 
l;i>l  winter,  one  stormy  day.  when  dared  to  go  (»ut  in  a  boat 
to  the  othcj-  side  of  Speckh.iven  Ibiyi'  And  now  into  Polly's 
eyes  leaped  the  light  that  had  ^^hone  in  tlieni  tlun,  and  her 
h.mds  clutched  tojjjethcr.  She  looked  her  adversary  straight 
ill   the  face. 

'•^'on  dare  me  t()  winit,   Mli/aT' 

'*To  pass  a  night  alone  in  the  (Jrange.  You  are  not  afraid 
of  ghosts!      Prove  it  ifyoudare^" 

"1  shall  do  it!"  Polly  sard,  folding  her  arms,  and  lookinjf 
'daggers  and  carving-knives  at  her  enen-y. 

"Ves,"  said  Miss  Pong,  "and  Duke  need  never  know. 
We  re  all  Koing  to  a  dance  at  Bridges';  that's  only  two  mile.s 
from  the  (Jrantfe,  and  I'll  tell  Duke  and  Kosaima  you'n» 
coming  with  us.  We  will  go  with  you  to  the  (}rang:e  and 
lea\-e  you  there,  and  call  fur  you  when  the  dance  breaks  up, 
jat  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  'I'hat  is,  of  course,  if  y6\i 
really  mean  to  go,  you  know.  I  wouhPi't  if  I  were  you,  if 
[J  felt  the  least  afraid." 

The  word,  the  tone,  the  insolent  sncrT,  stung  Poliy,  as  she 

{ni(  iint  it  should.     She  opened  the  gate,  and.  came  out  so  .-.ud- 

[denly  and  with  such  a  wicked  exiire.s>ion  that   EU/.n  rec  iil«»<i. 

"I'm   not  afraid,  and   I'll    tliank  5'ou   not  to  use   the   word 

Jagaiii.      You're  a  coward,   Kliza    Pong,  and  you  know   it,  and 

on  hope  something  evil  may  befall  mo,  and  you  would  have 

liven  a  year  cd'  your  liff>  to  stand  in  niy  -liocs  this  mornin;^! 

i'>ah!  don't   think   I  don't   understand  yon.  hut   I'll  go  all   ihe 


>ame 


V.\\7.H  laugluil,  while  die  gj-ew  wliite  \vill)  :ing(  r.  She  di  I 
\ii>[  luiow  sln'  wa  •  a  mnrder"-is  in  li'vul.  I>ii(  sIm*  did  hope  tjie 
thosts  of  the  (Irange  might  whi-^k  this  insolent  Poily  iMa-.on 
Ml'  to  the  regions  of  the  Ktyx,  uithough  Miss  Pmif^'  lunJ  never 
[u'a"d  o:  th:  t  ^rlooiUv  river.     Hiw,  run  up  tu  the  liom#  wlljiout 


86       ''All  Night 


ill   Lyndith  Gr::nge." 


l-i^'i 


i{  word,  and  cajiie  hack  in  iivo  uiinutos  to  say  Polly  might 
go  lo  Mrs.  IJridgcs'  daiui-. 

"Don't  do  it,  T'olly,"  Alices  Warren  pleaded  in  mortal 
dread;  "yon  don't,  know  what  may  iuippen.  It's  an  awtul 
plaee,  and   1  slandd   feel  as  if  we  had  mnrdcred  yuU,  if '' 

I'oily  st(>ppe<l  and  ki.ssed  her. 

"\'ou  poor,  litt.e,  frightened  Alice!  I  don't  helievo  in 
ghoi^ls,  1  tell  yon,  and  I  shall  go  to  sleep  as  eomforlahly  in 
the  drange  as  <'ver  I  did  in  my  life.  J)on't  let  us  talk  about 
it.      I'lliza  Lt>ng  shall  never  call  mo  a  coward." 

'I  hey  passeil  iiridges':  the  town  with  its  noise  and  its  lanipfl 
lay  hehind  them;  tlu;  lonely,  open  road  that  led  to  tlu'(irarig<i 
lay  white>aml  deserted  before  them.  They  passed  the  cross- 
roads, wheic  fourteen  years  before  Uuko  Mason  had  lost  his 
way.  A  little  more  than  a  mile,  an<l  th<\v  would  be  at  the 
^irange.  Still  Polly  rattled  (mi;  a  stranger  might  liave  said, 
to  ktK^p  up  her  courage,  but  in  reality  the  girl  was  not  afraid. 
Hers  was  a  nature  singularly  free  from  superstition  or  fo.ir 
of  any  kind.  She  was  not  afraid,  every  nerve  (ini(*kened  with 
excitement;  sIk^  longed  to  show  this  vindietive  rival  of  hers 
how  sujjorior  she  was  to  her  taunts. 

The  great  gates,  the  grim  wall,  loomed  up  before  them  at 
last,  and  Alice  suddenly  flung  both  arms  about  her  friend. 

"Vou  shall  not  go,  Polly — you  shall  not!  What  will  every- 
body say,  and  who  knows  what  may  hai)pen  ?  Peter,  don't  let 
her  go — KHza,  speak  to  her!" 

"She  may  go  if  she  likes,  for  me,"  said  Peter,  boorishly. 

"Certainly,  Polly,  I  wouldn't  go  if  T  felt  the  least  af " 

She  .did  not  finish  tne  word,  Polly  turned  upon  her  so 
sviftly  and  fiercely. 

"You  had  better  not!"  she  said.  "Alice,  dear,  hold  your 
tongue;  there  is  no  Janger.  There  are  no  human  thiiigs 
there,  and  Pm  not  afraid  of  the  ghosts.  None  of  you  need 
come  any  farther,  if  you  don't  wish." 

She  opened  the  gates — they  creaked  and  moved  heavily  (»n 
their  rusty  hinges,  and  walked  resolutely  in.  Mr.  .lenkins 
ludd  back,  but  the  other  threx^  followed  her;  Alice  still  cling- 
ing to  her,  and  half  sobbing;  a  Satanic  gleam  in  Eliza's 
greenish  eyes. 

They  walked  up  the  avenue  in  dead  silence;  the  unearthly 
stillness  and  gloom  of  the  j-.lace  awed  them.  Polly  spoke,  as 
the  house  ci;ni<    in  view,  juul  lu  r  voice  soundiMl  unearthly. 

"IldW  am  J  going  to  get  in  ^  There's  a  window  I  IctxjW  of 
—  if  you  t'an  oidy  raise  it  for  m<\  Sam." 

It  was  the  v^y  window,  near  the  elm  tn  i',  in  wh'cli  Duke 
had  sat  and  s^red  that  memorable  night.  The  ivy  niade  im 
e«»y  ladder  for  Mr.  Samuel,  who  in  some  trepidation  moved 


."All  Night  in  Lyndith  Grange."       87 

and  sliook  the  .casement.  Wind  and  weather  liad  douo  tlu-ir 
work- -the  window  went  crashing:  int<>  tlie  rooui. 

Miss  Mafjon  turned  and  faced  Miss  Long  with  the  Ktok  of 
a  (lit(>li>l  waiting  lo  lire. 

'Will  that  r'.'oui  do,  Kliza,  or  is  there  any  apartment  in  the 
liouse  more  especially  haunted  than  another i  I  should  like 
t"  pl<'a*e  you,  and  it  is  all  the  same  to  me." 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me,"  Hai<l  Kliza,  shivering  slightly  as  she 
spoke;  "ilon't  say  1  want  you  to  go;  1  don't.  1  tlnnk  you 
ha<l  much  better  turn  hack." 

I 'oily   hiughe<l   bitterly. 

"1  underbtand  you,  Eliza!  If  anything  happens,  you  must 
prove  your  innocence.  CJood-night,  all;  don't  frel,  Aliet*, 
about  me." 

She  seized  the  ivy,  and  with  one  light  leap  was  inside  the 
r'N.iii.  llir  d.iuntless,  smiling  face  looked  down  upon  them 
tioni  th(.'  window. 

'•do!"  she  said;  "good-night." 

'"Come,''  said  Eliza,  with  anf^ther  shudder;  iuid  "oh,  I'olly, 
Polly,  come  back!"  came  faintly  from  Alice.  She  felt  as 
though  she  were  leaving  her  friend  to  be  murdered   in  cold 


'^:H 


III   )0(| 


l)Ut  the  others  drew  her  with  them,  and  Polly  was  alone  in 
tlic  house  where,  sixteen  years  ago,  she  was  ttorn. 

She  stooil  by  the  window  until  the  last  echo  of  their  foot- 
steps, {he  heavy  clang  of  the  gates,  told  Ikm*  tht>y  wei'e  ^on(\ 
A  ureat  awe  stole  t)ver  her — not  fear — the  solemn  stillni'ss 
ot  the  night — the  white,  si)ectral  light  of  th(!  moon — the  mov- 
inu  of  the  wind  among  the  tre(\s. 

It  was  like  living  down  among  the  dead.  She  turned  and 
ghmced  about  the  room.  The  little  old  piano  stood  in  its 
corner,  the  easy-chair  in  its  place  bt^fore  the  black  heart  li- 
st .nc,  a  spindle-legged  table,  the  faded  tapestry,  the  bare  oak 
ll'or.  'J'luvnigh  the  eorriilors  the  wind  wailed,  overhead  the 
r;its  scan!i)i.red.  The  girl  shuddered  for  the  lirst  time  as  >)io 
li-tened  to  them.  Jt  was  so  deadly  still  that  she  luanl  liio 
c'o.'ks  (»r  thi^town  toll  nijie. 


tv.u  or  tliree  before   they  would   return,      ll"  sh(»   coiiK 


Nine!  and  she  must  wait  until 

only 
1- '.'ep  and  dream  those  long,  hsnesome  bours  away.  She  v.Lmid 
try.  She  km  It  down,  her  face  in  he,"  hands,  and  snid  \vv 
prayers  a  little  more  dc^'outly  than  usaal,  ami  then  eu>l!il;.<l 
herself  up  in  the  armchair. 

^V!u>  had  sat  in  this  old  chair  last,  sh^^  woiulered  i!  Sb.'! 
shut  li(U*  eyes,  wrapped  her  summer  sliav/l  closer  ;)bti  m  Ih-i', 
and  tried  not  to  think  of  the  cavalier  and  the  mad  lady,  not, 
to  hear  the  wind  or  the  rats.  She  tried  to  tJiink  of  yt^ster- 
day'a  dall'-ht^p  of  to-morrow'a  bliss,  when  she  wowli'  jo  u 


li 


88 


Face  lo  Face. 


Hontalif'M  Pi*if)ry,  jhmI  sil  for  lu  r  picfur*-.     Slio  wns  in  lov 
witii    Mr.    I'ain  — no,    willi    Mr.   (Iiiy    I');  rlscifurt-  sin-   didn' 
know    wliicli.      Present l.v    flu*    wliife    Inls    went    tlown    on    \\i- 
jjurplc  lustre  !  cnciitli,  iind  llie  i»le^-t(l  sleep  nT  heulthtiil  youtli 
can:e  to  IVtll.v. 

SIh;  ,l('I)l  for  hours.  The  njoonli^hi  tli<'l;(i((|  in  n  ^ho^tlv 
vviiv  (  noo^h  across  the  Ho(»r;  tlw  rats  scjanipereci  like  an 
arni.v  oi  spirits  overhead. 

•   Was  it  in  lier  dream  that  Aiv  hcartl  the  ^ale-  cdan^'  auain, 
and   the   toot.->t(p-^   of    her   late  eianpanic-ns   drawiiif^  near    lln 
housed     Was  it  in  a  dreatn  that  >\u-  hoard  footsteps  that  wei' 
not  the  footsteps  of  the  rnt>  ovi  flaad  ' 

Slie  sat   up    all    at   once,   with    a   ->tart,   hr.iii.j   awake.      J  li» 
inoon  had  fjone  under  a  cloud,  and  the  room  \\.i>  in  darknc>«  . 

What     was     that^      Snndv,     foot>tep^      human     footsiej)s 
uhju^"-  the  hall  outside,  and  approachint;  the  door. 

V(-s,  the  handle  turned.  llu-  door  ereake«|  and  opened! 

The  girl  rose  ami  ^to(jd  u|)  h.v  n(<  volition  <d'  her  «»\vn,  and 
seemed  staring'  straight  at  the  openin^i'  door.  Her  heart  had 
eeas«'d  to  l.eat  ->he  was  icy  enld  all  over.  Was  this  feai^ 
She  had  consciousness  enough  hft,  to  w<tn<ler.  1  he  door 
opened  wide-  there  was  what  ^eemed  to  Pidl.v  a  hlaze  of  su- 
I'ormitural  light,  and  in  that  glow  she  saw  tlu'  form  (d'  a 
Wfjman  entering,  and  coming  straight  toward  lier. 


CIIAI'TKK   IV. 

KACK    TO    lALi:. 

TTad  Olivia,  l^ndy  Cliarteris,  nall.v  grown  utterly  heartless? 
Had  she  entirely  forgottt-u  the  child  sIh-  had  deserted  four- 
teen years  hefore':^  Was  she  n  living  woman  with  a  heart  ef 
fcitone^  There  were  j)eo|)le.  who  said  .>o,  })<■<. pie  who  sai<l  In  r 
iiatuie  was  as  cold  and  colorless  as  her  pale,  unsmiling  facf, 
p<>ople  who  said  slu;  lov<'d  neither  hu>«hand  nor  child.  P(  i- 
haps  those  jjcople  were  right  in  that  last  surmis*'.  Her  e-v- 
tranf:ement  fi-om  Sir  N'ane  C'harteris  tlie  wliole  world  was 
\v<  l<'o!rie  to  know,  so  fur  as  she  was  concerned.  'IMiey  dwelf 
under  the  same  luoi',  they  were  outwardly  civil  tT)  each  other 
the  hu.-hand,  indeed,  more  than  civil,  assiduously  prdite  ami 
deferential  to  liis  statue  of  a  wife;  but  for  all  that  they  weic 
to  all  intents  and  pm'poses  as  widely  sutidered  as  the  poh  s. 
It  had  been  so  since  the  birth  of  little  Maud — no  one  knew 
Iho  cause.  They  met  by  chance-  (»n  the  stairs,  or  in  the  pa^- 
fiages  (the  only  places  they  ever  met  alone),  and  the  lady 
swept  by  wi4k  head  erect  and  lashes  proudly  drooping,  shrink' 


r^ 


Face  to  Face. 


8<^ 


h 


'  was  in  lov 
f--shf   ilichr 

il<»wii    on    I  li 

illtilt'lll    jOlltll 

ill  a  jxliu^tly 
•crcti    liko    }iii 

i-l}iiij«'  iifiiiiii, 
111^  near    lli*- 
(p.-j  tIjMt  \vn< 

iiv,nl\«'.      J  lit 
-  ill  (larkiM'>~. 
I     t'totsU'ps 
r. 

IK'licd  I 
litr  «t\vii,  Jill  1 
l<'r  ln.-art  hiil 
as  this  I'c'iii^ 
r.  '1  lie  (lonr 
I  MiiZL'  of  >ii- 
lic   I' inn  <j1"  a 


•rly  licnrtle-^^  ? 

|('>(M't''(l     folll 

itli  a  heart  of 

w  hfi  said  h<  r 

iisiiiiliiig'  fnic, 

r  chil.l.     P.  1 

lisc      Her  (■- 

lie    world    \v;l■^ 

They  dwcl* 

T)  oaeh  Other 

sly   polite  ninl 

iiat  they  \v<r<' 

I  as  the  pol( -. 

-no  one  kn«w 

or  in  the  pa- 

and   the  lady 

oping,  shrink' 


lest  lu'  should  lourh  ihc  lic;ii  »d'  lu  i  frnrinent  •.   \Vh 


leil 


Idres^i'd  her  at  tlie  diiiiur  tai>lt'  hi'r  un>wers  \;vn'  aKvny» 
......xyllahii',  and  she  never  lookeil  at  him.      I;     .as  a  ewrioUH 

ii;    It.  uat<'h   liieni     she  as  f(d<l,  as   lit'ele    •   to   hiiii   a-   the 

.r.iA  (>{    the   Koiivre,    whom    pj'opif   saiil   she   rescnihlrd ;    he 

jili  thf  ri'd  f,dow  ut'  >npprer>ed  t'ury  and  mortiHeat ion  rising; 


.-iilleir  d«'ptlis  ot"  his  hiaek  <'yt' 


W 


IIO-C 


laidt    was   it  ^      Well,    as  is   jremrally   the   eas*-,   il 


r.iiiic   in   lor  tlie  heaviest   share  (d'  the  hlaiiu-.      She  was 
.,  Ir.  not  a  wmian.     She  was  .i  ?narl»le  statue,  not  a  wife. 


aiie — WJis  lie  n<» 


t  al 


wa.^  s 


Id 


ami,  always  stieninU',  always 


\h 


II I 


Klin',  tlu'  ii'ost  d(;li;.'lit  ful  u['  nit'n  f  i'nt  opinions  dif- 
IM  d.  i'liose  d(dightfully  social  and  hrilliant  nion,  in  pnh- 
aif  sometimes  intens«dy  s«itish  and  erutl  lui>l»ands,  in 
h\alt  ;  and  there  was  a  Kham  in  Sir  N'ane's  hhn'k  eyi's  -an 
|hn--ion  ahout  his  lieavily-ciit  mtJiith-  that  made  some  fas- 
IliciiN  natures  shrink  away  with  repulsion,  only  to  look  at. 
(  »inc.  iMid  once  only.  I.ady  ('Iiarti-ris  had  spoken  of  the 
|ti,iii;.Mn.ent  to  Lord  Moiilalicn,  whom  she  este«Mned  mo^t  of 
|l  iiK  II  she  knew,  when  hv  had  strivtn  (very  faintly)  to  hriiijr 
'111  a  rccoiiciliation. 

Sir  N'aiic  Ch.literis  has  insnlted  me,  my  Lord,"  Latiy  Char- 

|ii>  -aid.     *'\V(.men   of  my   race  have  jfiven  hack  deatii  le- 

iic  llow    for  less  insult iiif^-  words.      If   1  wi-re  on  my  death- 

i|.  and  he  knelt  hid'ore  me,  1  would  not  forgive  him." 

,\iid  the  daik  eyes  had  dilated,  and  tilled  with  so  tcrrihlc  a 

III,  and  o\er  the  jiale  face  came  a  ^'^low  so  deep,  so  hurnin^r, 

It   Lord  Montalien  knew  shetneanl  it.      He  howed  his  lu-ad, 

d  -aid  n(»  more,  and  from  that  honr  never  tried  the  role  of 


ictiiiaKer  a^iiiin. 


lor  little  Maud,  she  was  her  father  in  miniature      the  sat 


lie 


eyes  and  hair,  the  same  features,  the  same  nature.      She 


a-    liis   idol      She  had    not  a    look    of   her   mother,   ami    1 


ifi 


lilted  in  it.     SI 


le  was  a 


II 


Ins  OW 


11.     ( 'oidd  Olivia  (Mlarteri^ 


kiting  the  father,  love  the  child  ^  .\iul  the  little  K'ii'K  (diiif.,'- 
\\ii  to  her  father,  never  seemed  to  lu'.Ne  any  speei.il  lov«'  left 
her  mother.  It  was  an  odd,  abnormal  slate  of  things 
Itoiicther,  and  you  see  people  were  more  than  half  right  U\ 
illing  r.ady  Charteris  a  cold,  unloving  wife  and  mother. 

Hut  the  child  of  her  love,  of  Rohert   Lisle that  was  (juiie 

lotlier  mattt-r.      Wvr  very  love  for  that  child  had  made  her 

ve  it   away    to  strangers,  out    cd"  the   (dutches  of  lier  uncle 

id   liiishand       Had    fourteen    years   <teeled    her   heart    there, 

well  ^     I)uke  .Mason,  standing  h(d"ore  her  in  the  twilight  of 


iP  /( 


('   ( 


!(»n 


tal 


leii 


1 


riory, 


;new 


belt 


er. 


Sucl 


1   pas- 


tixed  on   the   fair  young 


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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


l^'fiT 


MWH'M 


90 


Face  to  F. 


fore,  except  once — one",  in  ;i!»  1.  ,  cr  cliaiuber  of  a  houso  J 
Park  lane,  where  a  inclhcr  wej't  over   the  child  she  was 
iiijT'iing',  pci'liajjs  fori'VfM". 

'i  hey  sto<>il  i'uee  to  lao»-,  liKirc  uiuKr  tho  .<>r>'en  trees  ol'  ili 
purk,   aiid    kjsew  ea(;h   olhir.     'Iliiis    tiiey    met   ajj^aiii.     DukJ 
turned  cold  all  over  as  he  ^tood  tiicre.     The  hour  dronded  uii] 
liltcrably  h.id  cotmc.     'i'lie  n'(;th' r  had  foiiiul  iier  chihl.     1!^ 
eyes  spoke  to  him:   they  said  "Stay!"  as   plainly  as   worij 
Polly  was  whirling'  away  in  the  daiicc  ;;^:i*ain.     <'Uy  l^arlseiupj 
was   waiting-:   with   we.iry   i('siji,n;'>l  ion    to   ho    led   wilhersy.  viJ 
her  ladysliip  willed.     They  niove^l  on,  her  dress  brushed  'li'il 
her  lips  wiiisjieri'*!  "Wait."     Tliey  disai)peared  in  the  sih,;' 
d'.'-k,  and  Du.kc  was  alone. 

'1  he  sunjiuer  lifj;lit  had  faded  entirely  out  of  the  sky,  ,i.i 
the  UKKJii,  and  tl!(-  star.^,  and  the  Chin(>si-  lanterns  had  ii  .;. 
t!i-ir  (iwn  wjy;  ;'nd  -tlH   Diike  sat,  and  waited  as  patieiv 


fcurteen  y(virs  before,  in   the  elm 


•r, 


now  a?-  he  h.ad  ('.lie 
for  Olivia  i  yndilh. 

A  cold  haiui  fading  on  his  own  arcused  h.ini — the  same  'hi 
touch' tluit  ha<l  startled  Lord  Montalien's  favorite  sou — suioi 
tu'-nin^'  I'oniid,  he  saw  in  Ihe  night  light  Lady  Charter!- 
She  locked  like  a  spirit — so  white,  so  unearihiy — her  b];i(!:i 
ey.^s  wild  and  solenui.  She  '.d  thrown  a  scarlet  cashn!!!vl 
over  hei'  dark  dress,  and  her  s;nall  face  shone  from  the  liclj 
red  fold;-,  like  a  wan  star. 

(  oniel     she  sanl,     come  vifh  me. 

Tier  f-old  fi Hirers  still  held  his  hand.  Duke  shuddered  all 
their  touch.  He  was  in  no  wa^  fanciful,  but  just  then  he  roi 
membered  legends  ran  of  pale  water-spirits  bearing  away  h;ip| 
less  mortals  to  their  doom. 

She  led  him  away  from  the  noise  and  the  people,  down  al 
green  aisle,  in  whose  sombre  darkness  a  murder  might  h.ive 
been   committed.     One   or    two    red   lamps    flickered   luriillyj 
athwart   the   blackness,   and   a   nightingale    piped   its  sweet, 
mournful  lay  somewhere  in  the  stillness.     Even  the  brayi 'sr! 
of  the  brass  band  came  faint  and  far-off,  here.     She  claspiMl| 
both  hands  around  that  of  her  prisoner,  and  the  dark,  fipof 
tral  eyes  fixed  themselves  upon  his  face. 

"She  is  mire — my  daughter — my  child — whom  I  gave  you| 
f(nirteen  years  ago?" 

"She  is." 

"You  have  cared  for  her  all  those  years!     She  has  grown] 
up  like  that — strong,  and  tall,  and  healthy,  and  beautiful- 
Ix^autifnl  as  he  was,  and  like  him,  and  like  him!" 

"Well,  yess"  ^fr.  Mason  responded,  thoughtfully,  and  qui 
forg(tting'  hiniselx,  "she  is  like  him,   and  when  lier  faco 
waslwd,  tliu  Duches-  isn't  a  bad  looking  ^jirl^^ 


om  I  gAve  you 


Face  to  Face, 


91 


.a., 


>0' 


'!ic->lly. 
to  the 


li'  .:,  was  a  vision  before  him  as  he  spoke — Miss  L  tiiy,  in 
10  ki'-ilieu  on  washing,  ironing  and  baking  days,  with  spots 
'  sunt  on  her  oval  cheeks,  and  perennial  smudges  of  grime 
1  her  pretty  Greeian  nose.  Indeed,  it  seemed  on  these  oc- 
isi'iiis — as  the  young  lady  herself  observed,  with  an  injured 
ir-  that  she  couldn't  so  much  as  look  at  a  pot  or  a  kettle 
ithdiit  half  the  black  flying  off  and  transferring  itself  to  her 
mritenance. 

"Ddos  she  know — who  does  she  think  she  is?"  the  lady 
;irri('<lly  asked. 

"Slie  thinks  she  is  Polly  Mason,  an  orphan,  the  child  of  a 
"i\(\  cousin  of  raifie.  The  Duchess  hasn't  a  notion  of  who 
ic  rciilly  is." 

"The  what?" 

*'l  bog  your  pardon,  my  lady,  I  call  her  the  Duches 
inisc  she  looks  like  one,  not  that  1  ever  was  pers-.r     •' 
u.iinterl   with   any   duchess,"   Duke  put    in,   pa 'eii* 
Slic  cabled  herself  Polly;   but   I  never   took  kiiid' 
aino  of  Polly." 

"llor  name  is  Paulina." 

"V(<,"  said  Duke,  forgetting  himself  lo.'  tiic  seco  -d  time. 
I  know  it  is.     He  said  so."    ' 

"Who  said  so?"  ^ 

Tlu^  solomn,  dark  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  face,  tlie  friendly 
arkiioss  hid  the  guilty  red  that  flushed  it  al  ihe  quc'stion. 

''Who  said  so:  who  could  know  lier  name?"  the  lady  fle- 

iiiidcd,  suspiciously. 

"It  was — it  was  a  sick  man  who  stopped  with  us,  when  sho 
irnc/'  stammered  Duke,  who  never  could  learn  the  nianncrs 
f  p>o(l  society,  and  telh polite  lies;  "he»suggested  that  her 
jniie  might  be  Paulina." 

"How  should  he  think  of  it — who  was  this  sick  "mail?" 

"His  name  was  ITawksley,  my  lady." 

Duke's  heart  was  throbbing  against  Iris  .ribs.  If-she  only 
now ' 

"If  she  asks  questions  enough,  she'll  .surely  find  it  out,"  he 
I'Might,  with  an  inward  groan.      "I  never  could  stand  pump- 
>'!,jr." 

But  my  lady's  thoughts  had  drifte<l  away  to  more  import- 
|n('  things  than  sick  men  by  the  name  of  '    avvk-^ley. 

"Why  did  you  leave  London?"  she  asked;  "do  you  know 

wrote  to  the  old  address  twice,  and  my  letters  were  returniHl. 

he  last  tell   into  the  hands  of  Sir  Vane,  and  there   wn-^  a 

^'f-tio,'^  she  twisted  her  fingers  togetbr^i    as  though  ii;   pain: 

'111(1  1  never  dared  write  again.     I      ould  rather  havf*  seen 

ly  flnrling  dead  than  th..;  he  should  find  her  out.     Oh!  if  he 

louJ*.'  i'egognize  the  rwiemblance,  and  discovw  her  i.'rutity. 


»!tr>— . 


m 

•^ 

h 

t  '^ 

i 

<f      !■    'i 


•I 


I 


i 


s 


- 


92 


Face  to  Face 


\  / 


^ 


ev(Mi  now?     lie  know   ihcro  vas  a  ch'ih] — he  know-;  ~x 
hidden  her  away.     If  he  shoiihl  fine  out!   if  he  shoiii'l 
out!"     She  ehisped  her  handj^  around  his  nrin.  an<l  look> 
at  him  witli  a  face  of  mortal  (h'eack 

"lie  will  not  find  out,  my  lady,"  Duke  said,  (juietlv,  "j 
you   do   not   hetray  yourself.     Iltiw  should  he — she   is    P 
Mason,  the  orphan   eousin  of  a  poor  scene-painter;  aiil 
the  rescinhlance,  lie  will  not  see  it  as  you  do.     Vou  do  n 
he  linir  f'Msped,  as  he  £sl>ed  the  (luestion.     "You  will  no!  ',; 
her  away,  niy  lady?" 

"Take  her    away!"   repeated  Lady   Charteris;   "never, 
friend — my  p:oo(k  kind   faithful  friend!     Do  you  love  Ik 
tell  me — is  she  indeed  dear  to  you?     Would  it  grieve  y'  u 
^'wo  her  up?" 

"]\ly  lady,  nothing?  on  earth  could  grieve  me  so  di  | 
T  don't  know  how  a  father  may  feel  for  an  only  child,  in 
know  no  father  in  this  world  could  love  a  daughter  ni 
than  T  love  Polly." 

"And  your  sister — she  loves  her  too?"  , 

"She  is  the  torment  and  the  idol  of  my  sister's  life.    I' 
one  loves  the  Duchess." 

She  put  her  hai^ds  over  her  face.     Tears  were  falliniv 
hapi)iest  Lady  Charteris  had  ever  shed.     When  she  look*  i  '■■ 
she  was  ineffably  calm  in  the  dusk. 

"I  have  been  praying  for  my  darling,"  she  whispered.     > 
God  keep  her — God  protect  her — pure  from  tiie  world 
from  her  enemies!" 

"ITer  enemies — she  has  none." 

"She  has  a  teri^ble  enemy  while  Sir  Vane  Charteris  liv 
Save  lier  from  him.  Look,  Mr.  MUson !  I  was  an  hciic- 
it  was  for  my  fortune  my  ujicle  persecuted  me.  Sir  Vane  mn 
ried  me.  That  fortune  w^s  so  left  me  tliat  it  falls  to  ni 
eldest  child  at  my  deatli.  He  idolizes  his  daughter — it  i-  li 
ambition  that  she  shall  make  a  lofty  marriage — he  has  i 
eomo  almost  a  miser  that  slie  may  be  a  great  heiress.  Ar 
Panl'na  is  my  eldest  child — to  Paulina  it  shnll  all  go  at 
death — if  they  cannot  prove  itiy  first  m.arriage  illegal 
skic  illegitimate,  I  speak  calnd.v  of  these  things,  my  friiMij 
I  have  thought  of  them  so  often.  Paulina  will  in1i(M-if  '^ 
spite  n^'  him — the  marriage  was  legal,  1  know.  T  have  > 
suited  1-i'vyers  on  the  sub.iect.  One  hair  of  her  hea(^  is  d'' 
to  inc  than  a  doj^rn  "Mauds — it  mav  be  wrong;  T  cannoi  i. 
it.  At  my  ('eath  Paulitia  will  come  into  an  nmcMne  of  ', 
thousand  a  vear— his  daught<!r  will  not  inh-v*^  '^  -hilling- 
is  well  he  has  sufficienl  for  her.  He  is  a  ')ud  bold,  unscni|iii| 
lous  i.ian,  who  spares  neither  man  nov  woman  in  his  wiMtl 
It  11  vo?'  ■■-'.■    3eea'^.?e  you  know  how  he  married  me,  whi!l 


il-'ace  to  Fnce. 


95 


oris;   "ncvor. 


istor's  life.    I  v. 


(uiilitcr — it  i 


liiifis,  my  frii 


,(i:i!li'0(l   hiiTi,   and    told   liiin    1    Idntlicd    liim.     A   in;in   wlio 
iilil   stoop    to    siU'li    a    lujiiTiiif^c    uMild    sloop    to   jinythiiiK. 


Id  Paidina  bo  safo,  think  yon,  llion,  in  his  power';  Wo 
\y  iiiiinin  liorc  a  week,  <  r  two;  keep  her  away  from  tins 
r:    diM-ini,^  tliat   timo.      He  ^ll-l)0(•{s  nic  now;  since  our   I'o- 

II  t..  i-'iifihuid  lio  has  wat*  IkmI  ir.o  as  a  cat  watcti("s  a  mouse. 
!■  ;i'i   know  what  ho  snsjK'cts.  w]i;U   he   f(>ars,  hut    it    is  >u. 

III  iii>w  1  may  ho  missed,  he  may  he  scarohinj;  tor  nio. 
ji'.  M.i-on,  1  think  1  am  the  most  wretcdiecl  woman  the  v  do 
Irtli  liohls-  I  think  my  lieai't  hroko  sixteen  yoars  afjo  Avlun 
cv  loid  mo  my  (hndiii^  was  dead.     The  only  creatmv  in  this 

(1  whom  T  lovo  ii<  yondor,  and  I  «laro  not  speak  one  word 

!irr.  daro  not  j^ivo  her  ono  kiss  for  hor  fatlior's  sake." 

ISlic  covorod   hor  faoo  again,  and  hroke  out  info  sohhinjv  — 

{l(!.  hysterical,  but  suppressed  sohhiniz'.      Ahis!  lony'  yc^ar--  of 

(in.  of  survoillanoo,  had   taught  h<  r,  tliat   <'Voii  grief  was  a 

;ury  she  must  not  indulge  in. 

[VmiIxc  had  nf»t!iing  to  say:  a  woman  orying  made  him  cold 
1(1  lint,  hy  turns.  He  wasn't  much  used  to  if  —  Rosanmi  w  is 
||M  ri(.r  to  crying  Jis  to  all  other  weaknesses  of  hor  wretched 
!)tid  for  Polly's  tears,  though  they  made  him  oxtjuisitely 
i-crnhle  at  the  time,  they  were  sjx'tMlily  dried.  They  were 
Hir!;illy  tears  of  rage,  indeed,  not  of  sorrow;  and  as  she 
iMt'd  vehi^montly  all  the  while  .she  W(^pt,  it  wrs  not  in  tii.:; 
Iturc  of  things  her  tempests  could  last  long — their  v<'ry 
f'ltiice  used  them  up.  l^ut  this  was  something  different; 
ji'-  w;is  sorrow  of  which  the  n.ian  knew  nothing,  and  lie 
lr;i!ik  ;iway.  with  a  Strang  desire  to  take  to  his  hoids,  and 
piilic.  Some  intuition  told  her  it  pained  him — she  dro|)p(d 
|r  hands,  and  smiled  through  her  tears. 

|''I   !i;ive  no  right  to  dfstress  you."  she  said,  sweetly,   "yni 

lo  are  my  best,  my  only,  friend — the  only  friend  at  least 

ii'iii  I  can  trust  with  the  secret-  of  my  life.     Tidl  mv  of  my 

iiid-   is  slio  truthful,  is  she  generous,  is  she  nohlediearfed, 

she  amiable;  is  she,  in  a  word,  like  her  father!!" 

|".\ii]iahle'r'     Well,  Duke  wasn't  iireparod  to  say  that  Polly 

-  on  all  occasions.     She  had  a  tongue  and   a   temper  he- 

mI  a  doubt;  she  had  a  will  of  her  own,  too,  and  made  m  >st 

l"i  le  mind  her.     But — and  Duke  ^Fason's  face  lit  up,  and 

ey(  s  glowed,  and  groat  love  made  him  elo(iuent,  and   ho 

nred   Polly  to  Polly's  mother  as  he  saw  her—the  brav-t, 

ha'ndsomost,  the  most  generous  and  loving  little  girl   in 

f  It  Britain. 

i'Thaidx    God!"    the    mother    said.     "Thank    Hod!      Ami 
vou.  who  have  been  hor  father  and  friend,  for  so  many 
|ar-      Keep  her  still — keep  her  until  I  die  and  she  cornea 
to  tier  fortune.     She  will  be  able  to  reward  yor  then.*' 


94 


Fac 


o 


Face. 


"I  hope  thnt  flay  is  vorv  fnv  off.     T  don't  want  any^rewariij 
fur  kecy-uig-   tlio   Dnclios.     iwiV    aliiiout   her    woula    not  U| 
worth  the  l-.avinjj;'." 

"Teach  u(ir  what  you  can — 1  /'aniiot  oven  ^ive  you  a  p.iilri 
hr.ndrod  or  two  for  that.  1  liavo  not  a  sovereig-n  witliuuti 
the  knowUMl«40  of  Sir  Vane  ('harteris — not  a  trinket  thai  li| 
v/ould  not  miss.     I  am  jxtorer  than  she  is,  Mr.  Mason." 

"Oh,  Polly  isn't  poor,"  eried   Duke,  forgettinji:  himself  fori 
the   thiid   lime;   "thanks   to   Jiawksley's   gen(M'osity,  she  !ia 
seven  iiinidred  i)oun(ls  in  tlie  Speekliaven  Jjank." 

"Who  is  this  Mr.  Ilawksley?"  asked  Lady  Charteris,  niihl 
renewed  suspicion:  "who  knows  Paulina's  name,  and  giv«l 
lier  seven  hundred  pounds  (f  what  does  it  moair^f" 

"What  a  dolt — a  dumh-rhead,  I  am!"  thought  Duke,  rcailjj 
to  hife  his  own  toiigue  off.  "Pve  got  myself  into  a  pn>tty| 
mess  now!  My  lady,"  he,  said  aloud,  "Mr.  JIawksley  is  onlyl 
a  very  generous  and  eccentric  young  man,  who  took  a  faiirvj 
to  Polly's  pretty  face  when  a  bahy,  and  sends  her  a  Christinj!! 
p:e<ent  of  fifty  jjounds  from  the  California  gold  digging^ 
every  year.  Tie  was  just  from  the  States,  you  see,  and  I.  (liirii 
say  tlutt's  how  lie  came  to  guess  her  name." 

She  had  not  the  faintest  suspicicjn  of  the  truth,  and  ^h\\ 
very  lucid  e.xDlanation  satisfied  her. 

"T(e  is  v(^ry  kind."  she  said;  "take  the  money,  then,  ar.l 
educate  the  child  as  befits  her  birth  and  tlie  station  she  will 
one  <lay  fill.  And  now" — she  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arraj 
and  drev;  nearer  to  him — "a  last  favor.  Will  you  accom])iimj 
me  to-morrow  niglit  to  the  Grange?  A  strange  request,"  she] 
added,  as  she  felt  how  Duke  must  be  wondering;  "but  I  ;l;ire| 
not  venture  to  go  in  daytime.  He  would  suspect  soinetaiiiL') 
Ho  is  always  suspecting.  And  at  night  I  fear  to  go  aloiul 
Not  the  cavalier's  ghost."  with  a  faint  smile,  "but  the  peoplej 
I  niighit  meet  at  that  hour.  •  Will  you  be  my  escort  to-morri/.i 
night  ?" 

"Certainly,  Lady  Charteris.'" 

"T  go  at  night  because,  when  all  have  retired,  I  am  fi\ 
only  then.  And  I  go  for  something  I  left  behind  me  ix: 
flight  fourteen  years  ago — ah,  you  rem(uid;cr  that  night?  J;\ 
husband's  miniature — my  lost  husband's — Sir  Vane  Chartcril 
is  only  thiit  in  nnme — some  letters — trinkets---the  few  pnvl 
ents  he  ever  gave  me.  They  are  dearer  to  me  than  anj^thiii!!! 
in  the  world,  except  ids  child.  T  had  them  ready,  and  for-f 
got  them,  somehow,  that  night  in  my  haste,  Tliey  may  lwve| 
been  removed,  but  I  think  not.  T  left  them  in  the  secret 
drawer  of  ar  "/lulian  cabinet,  and  T  know  none  of  the  largel 
furniture   :       ?,¥er  taken  from  the  Grange     At  tv/elve,  to-l 


ruth,  and  ■hii 


»^aiio  Chart crN 


Fa 


ce 


to  Face, 


Q5 


irrow   '^ifi:ht-   I    will    '      ;; '    llu*  gntcs--      '''    :;ov.   -neet    rae 

'•'  ^' •^'•" 

^•lic  Cook  his  liaud  aiuJ  kissed  il,  as  .she  liad  (l(»ue  that  iiig'ht 

li^''  ;ij^o  in  the  waitiiig-iomn  at  tlie  railway. 

"jMeaven  bless  you,  hest  of  friends.  And  nn\v  I  must  leave 
[du     he  has  missed  jr)e  loiifir  ere  this.''     Slie  ilittt>d  away  with 

ic  words,  and  he  was  left  alone  undi'r  llie  red  lamps  uiid 
liuhiingale's  jui^-jug. 

Ic  looked  at  his  watch — nine  o'eloek — the  first  act  would 
|o  "vcr;  but  better  late  than  never.     The  tirst  violinist  of  the 
.vcciim  strode  jway  at  a  tremend(>us  rate  toward  the  th(>atre. 

Pncisely    at    midnight,    the    following   night,    Duke,    in    a 

:iit  wagon,  was  waiting  outside  the  ponderous  gate  of  the 

riiiiy.     "Were    his    nocturnal    a<lventures    never    to    end!'" 
Kikt'  wondered,   and   "what   would    Rosanna   say   to-morrovi 
rluii  sj^(j  found  his  bed  unsle])t  in  V     J.ady  (Miarteris   was 
[aiK'tual,  and  he  drove  her  along  through  the  (luiet  night  to 
]if  liiiinited  Grange. 

"Vou  had  better  wait  outside,"  the  lady  said,  "and  keep 
|;it<'li.  I  know  how  to  effect  an  entrance,  and  J  am  not  in 
lie  least  afraid." 

Sjie  approached  the  house  with  a  rapid  and  resolute  step. 

jlic  might  be  afraid  of  Kir  Vane  Charttris;  she  certainly  was 

[ot  of  supernatural  visitants.     The  open  window  caught  her 

»e,  ^he  clambered  up  the  ivy-rope  ladder,  and  entered.     T  he 

Kioii  chanced  to   be  obscured,  and   the  figiu'e  asleei)   in    the 

liiir  escaped  her  eye.  She  carried  with  her  a  dark-lantern, 
fhicli  she  lit  now,  and  passed  out  of  the  apartment  and  up- 
|i)irs  to  tlie  chamber  that  had  long  ago  been  her  own. 

Slie  was  right  in  her  surmise.  The  Indian  cabinet  ha<l 
1 1  been   removed.     She  found    the  spring  she  wanted,   the 

awf'r  flew  out;  there  lay  the  cherished  packet.     She  caught 

up.  thrust  it  into  her  bosom,  and  rapiilly  descended. 

It  was  then  her  footsteps  awoke  the  sleeper. 

"^no  opened  the  door.  Polly  was  standing  erect,  and  very 
fi'lc  awnke  now. 

hady  Charteris  paused  on  the  threshold  with  a  low,  startled 

ry. 

1  liore,  in  the  house  in  which  she  had  been  born,  sixteen 
curs  ago  this  very  month,  child  and  mother  stood  face  to 


I  Si' 


ill  •  i; 


P.  CO 


CIIAPTKU  V. 

t»  O  L  L  Y  '  H      M  I  S  D  K  i;  F)  S  . 

i'aco  to  tuce,  in  the  dead  hour  of  the  night,  in  i\\v  do;  ii,i 
room  of  Lynditli  Grange,  Fate  had  doiie  licr  work.  ,n 
broug'ht  those  two  together  at  hist! 

Kur  an  instanr  both  stood  speechless,  spi'I'hound-  'w 
with  the  same  wild  tlinuglit  that  they  behehl  a  suitern;iiiu 
visitant.  Then,  as  the  light  of  tiie  lantern  slione  ;iri 
bntadly  over  the  face  and  figure  of  the  lady,  the  girl  wrut, 
^lized  her,  and  all  superstitictus  fears  were  swept  away  \]< 
impulse  of  uneontrollable  surprise. 

"Lady  Charteris!"  dropped  from  her  lii)s.     The  word-, 
sound   of  a   hnnuui   voice,   broke   the     pell.     J.ady    (Mian. 
knew  the  slim  figure  standing  before  her  was  not  the  t^hn-\ 
tlie  mad  lady. 

"Who  speaks?"  she  asked  firmly.     She  was  intensely  ii. 
ous,  and  her  heart  throbbed  almost  i)ainfully.        "Wh" 
you  r' 

"I  am  Polly  Mason."  Polly's  voice  faltered  a  little  a^  .-!i| 
said  it.  She  always  did  feel  ashamed  of  that  intensely  pin 
beian  and  unromantic  cognomen,  poor  child. 

"Polly  Mason!"  the  name  of  all  others  now  most  dear 
the  heart  of  the  lady.     She  drew  near   hurriedly — half  in 
credulous — "Polly  Mascn  !" 

She  lifted  her  light  high — yes,  it  shone  on  the  slender,  fj:iri| 
ish  figure,  the  fair,  drooping  head,  the  beseeching  eye^,  [\'\ 
half-smiling,    half -trembling    lips,   for   Polly,   thus    dete< 
hardly  knew  whether  to  laugh  or  cry. 

"M^'  child!  my  child!"  the  lady  cried,  aghast,  "what  in  tlil 
world  brought  you  here?     You,  of  all  people  alive,  and  at  tli!| 
itnearthly  hour?"     Polly  laughed  a   little  hysterically — i 
half  sobbed : 

"Oh,  Lady  Charteris,  it  was  foolish,  I  know,  and  Duke  ani 
Rosanna  will  be  so  angry   when   they  find  it  out.     I'm   liii 
sorry  no^'  I  came,  but  I  couldn't  help  it.     Eliza  Long.  \  i 
don't  know  her,  of  course — but  we  hate  each  other,  she  nnii 
— dared  me  to  come  here  and  spend  a  night  alone  ani^ij   ill 
ghosts,  and  I — well,  I  know  I'm  a  little  fool!"   Poll^-  v/i 
piteously,  and  looking  uj),  with  her  big,  blue  eyes  at  the  mcii 
lady,  "but  if  she  dared  me     >  jump  into  Speekhaven  B;i,v. 
think  T  would  do  it.     They  left  me  here,  and  are  to  ci^ll  t 
me  at  two  o'clock.     It  must  be  near  that  now.     And  pi   i 
my  lady,":  (very  humbly,)  "don't  tell;  X  ^waft  not  afraid,  i 


I- 


and  Duke  aiij 
out.     I'm  hi! 
liza  Loiifi',  V'l 
ther,  she  nini 
Olio  ain^if:  il 
:"   P.)l^  <Tu. 
cs  at  I  ho  m't';'! 
khavi'U  B;t.v, 
are  to  ci^li  Ui 


Polly's  Misdeeds. 


97 


cl(  od  I  wasn't,  and  I  slt-pt  nearly  all  tlio  time;  l)nk  l)uk« 
wt»iil<l  be  vexed- -(l)uk(!V  my  eousin,  please,  my  lady,)  and 
he's  such  a  dear  old  cousin,  1  hate  to  make  him  .--orry.  Oh, 
J>ii.'iy  ('harteri->  I"  i'olly  clasped  her  luuuKs  'I  know  fhi.-^  is 
your  liouse,  but  I  did  not  know  that  you  or  anybody  ever 
eaiiic  iii're,  or  I'd  never  have  tlonf  it.  Oh,  p'casu  don't  say 
J've  ilor.e  anytiiini^  so  very,  \ery  wi'on;j;!" 

I'oUn  could  talk  at  all  times,  and  awe  of  lauits.  <.;'reat  or 
Miiail,  >hc  did  not  know.  She  wondered  to  tiiid  L.KJy  Char- 
tcris  iiere,  at  such  a  time,  and  she  hoped  Duke  wouldn't  dis- 
i'i!\-cr  her  escapade,  but  slie  was  as  prepared  to  conv«.'rse  with 
a  baronet's  lady  a.s  with  Kosanna. 

it  u'as  a  moment  Ix'lore  my  lady  answered,  a  moment  (lur- 
ing' which  she  stood  h-okinj^;  .;t  the  Mii'l,  ^v'ith  her  hand  pres.».c<l 
ti;;hliy  over  her  lu'art.  'I'he  blue,  lj(^sccchin^  eyes  wei'e  so 
like,  so  cruelly  like  eye^s  that  seven'cen  years  a^'o  ha«l  been 
dearer  to  her  than  earth  and  all  its  jilory.  It  <;av(>  her  a  panj; 
ahnost  as  ^harj)  as  death  to  see  their  comiterpaii  thus.  She 
scarcely  heard  a  word;  8he  only  knew  that  the  child  td'  h:^r 
love  .stood  before  her. 

".My  darling!  My  darling- J"  she  said,  with  a  smothorod 
gob.  "(di  my  darlin/;!"  and  the  astonished  Polly  found  herself 
cau^'-ht  in  the  laily's  arms,  and  tears  and  kisses  rainini'-  on  h<'i. 
f.i.-e._ 

Aliss  Mason's  first  Impulse  was  that  I.ady  Charteris  iiarj 
^  lue  suddenly  mad.  It  wa«>  not  an  improbable  fancy,  inidcr 
the  circumstances,  and  much  more  alarmed  than  she  had  been 
rtny  time  yet,  she  strove  to  get  away.  She  was  prepared  to 
meet  a  ghost,  if  you  like,  but  not  a  lunatic.  Lady  Chi.rteri-i 
understood  her  in  an  instant,  and  at  once  released  he''. 

"I  have  frightened  you,  my  dear,"  she  said,  recovering  her- 
self— s^lf-command  was  a  fixed  habit  with  her  now;  she  was 
not  at  all  likely  to  give  way  again,  "but  you — you  resemblo 
some  one  I  once  knew.  My  child,  what  a  strange  thing  for 
you  to  do — to  come  and  spend  a  night  in  this  dismal  place. 
Were  you  not  terribly  afraid?" 

"Well — no,  my  lady,  at  least  not  until  I  heard  you  upstairs, 
I  don't  mind  a  bit  so  that  Duke  aiid  Rosanna  don't  find  out." 

"You  are  very  fond  of  your  cousins,  my  dear?" 

"Oh,  very!"  said  Polly,  "Duke  especially;  but  every  on( 
loves  Duke — the  starved  dogs  ii  ""^-.e  streets,  tht?  little  beggars 
who  ask  alnif-   in  the  town — everybody!" 

Her  eyes  lighted — yes,  verv  fondly  Polly  loved  "dear  old 
Duke." 

"And  you  are  liappy — truly  and  reall.y  happy,"  the  lad,^ 
asked — so  earnestly  she  asked  it. 

"Happy  i"  Polly  asked;  "well,  no,  not  Quite;  I  don't  thinly 


( . 


'Q. 


98 


Polly' ;  Misdeeds 


I'liybfxly  could  bo  litippj  v.'ftn.sr  nonie  wau  I'ol^.  ..iason;  Poiiyf 
it  nMiiiiitls  Olio  of  a  ])ol'  parrot  in  a  cage  asking  for  crnckops.** 

Ivjidy  (!ha^l«  rs  Hiiiilcd  in  spite  of  licrself. 

"Is  tliat  nil '{  Well,  my  cliiJd,  you  can  console  yourself  with 
th(!  I  bought  that,  like  most  young  kulies,  you  will  one  day 
c^iange  your  nniue." 

Polly  l)liislie(l.  and  tliongjit  of  Mr.  Fane. 

'4  ought  to  be  a  iiappy  girl,  I  sui)i>ose,  for  eve^-^body  is 
very  good  to  me.    iMy  lady,  will  you  please  tell  me  the  time?" 

"Jt  is  just  half-past  one,"  looking  at  her  watch;  "my  errand 
here  is  done,  and  you  will  return  with  me.  And  Polly,"  slic\ 
laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder,  "you  know  some  of  the 
|H>ople  at  the  Priory.  J  saw  you  dancing,  y(»u  remenibei',  yes*- 
terdiiy;  don't  nieiitioii  to  any  of  those  young  men,  should  y(Jii 
chancer  to  see  them,  that  you  ever  met  me  here.    Xow  come." 

"My  lady,  I  cannot  g<; — I  promised  to  wait,  nnd  I  must. 
They  will  call  for  me  at  two — only  half  an  hour  now;  1 
wouldn't  have  them  find  me  gone  for  the  world  when  they  re- 
turn.    1  should  never  hear  the  Inst  of  it." 

"Who  are  they,  my  little  onoil" 

"Oh,  Alice  Warren  and  Eliza  Long,  and  two  young  men; 
you  wouldn't  know  any  of  them.  They'll  be  here  a^t  two,  and 
I  must  wait — I  promised." 

"A  promise  must  be  kept,  of  course.  Will  you  not  got  a 
scolding  to-morrow  from — this  Duke  you  love  so  well,  for  thi8 
madcap  p^aiik  {" 

"A  scolding!  Duke  scold!"  Polly  laughed  aloud  at  the 
stupendous  jokc^ — such  a  sweet,  merry  laugh.  "Oh,  dear  no, 
my  lady,  Duke  couldn't  scold  if  be  tried — least  of  all,  me. 
But  he  would  look  grieved,  and  that  would  be  ten  times  worse, 
and  never  say  a  word,  and  be  kinder  to  me  than  ever.  Ro- 
sanna  would  scold,  and  I  shouldn't  mind  it  a  bit;  but.Duke." 
Polly  shook  hcv  curly  head,  with  contrition:  "No,  I  hoi">ei 
Duke  ^von't  hofir  of  it." 

"Then,  he  shall  not — from  me.  And  I  must  go  aiKl  leave 
you  here.    It  seems  almost  cruel." 

"You  are  very  kind,  my  lady,  but  don't  mind  me;  I'm  not 
afraid,  and  I  couldn't  go,  that's  the  amount  of  it.  Please  let 
me  help  you  out." 

Lady  Charteris  stooped,  and  kissed  her  very  gently  this 
time. 

"You  are  a  brave  little  girl.  Good-night,  and  don't  come 
here  any  more." 

The  benediction  given  with  the  kiss  w\ts  uttered  in  the 
lady's  heart.  Polly  helped  her  out,  of  the  window,  and 
watched  her  as  she  flitted  c'own  ^he  avenue,  her  light  steps 
lost  on  the  grassy  ground.  ...,:,    -    ,    .   .^         -■  ,;. 


Polly's  Misdeeds 


99 


A  .>i.^       »,\^iirf^  (liHinally.    ''I  do  wi^Ij  tlioy  woul-l  come." 

She  ha<i  ii<»t  loiii;"  to  wait.  lU'lort'  two  <i'f|(,('k  the  (|Uiirt('f 
»\<i(n\  uiidtu'  her  wi!i(l(»w,  fill<'(l  with  rt'morsc  mid  dire  mis- 
j»iviii^>.  WdiiM  tlicy  tind  iicr  ;div»'  wlicii  tl\'.v  rcttiriicd; 
Would  tlio.v  find  Ikt  iit  i\\\  (  Mi,y;lit  not  tlic  ravalitr's  j^host 
carry  lu'i  off  bodily  to  tho  land  oi'  restless  sliadows  wiuMice  in? 
tatiic'^  Jiiit  l*olly,  us  l)ri<;lit  as  a  new  sliilliriii'.  stood  smiiiu'; 
b<'t'orc  iliein,  and  leaped  witli  the  bound  ot"  a  Uid  out  id'  llu* 
window  and  into  tiie  arms  ot'  tlie  baberdaslu'r'ri  youn^:  num. 

"Tliat  will  do,  Sam;  I  don't  want  ludp,"  said  Miss  Mason, 
rather  disdainfully.  After  Allen  Kane  and  (Juy  rarlseourl  it 
wasn't  likely  she  was  ever  aj^jain  yninj;  to  tolerate  lra<U»8men'rt 
a|)[)rentiees.  "V<'s,  I'm  safe,  Kli/.a,  in  spite  of  you  and  the 
ghosts  und  the  rut«;  and  I've  had  a  sociable  chat  with  one  of 
th(^  lufhosts  that  liannt  the  (^ra^^•e,  and  a  very  pheasant  ^host 
il  is.  I  hojH*  you're. cojivinoed  I'm  i.ot  afraicl  now;  and  if 
you,  or  any  (d*  you,  let  Duke  or  ilosanna  iind  out  this  nif^ht's 
work,  I'll — well,  "don't  you  do  it,  that's  all!  I  may  lg>  an 
idiot  for  my  pains,  but  I'm  not  f?oinp:  to  worry  th<Mn  into 
their  graves," 

Even  Eliza  Long  prcvmised.  She  had  been  considerably 
alarmed  during  the  lu)urs  of  waiting.  If  they  found  Polly 
dead  or  gone  mad  through  fright,  Peter  Jenkins  would  turn 
(Queen's  evidence,  she  knew,  and  there  was  no  telling  what 
the  law  might  not  do  to  her — hang  her,  perhaps.  Sh(>  prom- 
ised, and  she  kc^pt  her  word — for  two  or  three  months — and 
by  that  time  it  did  no  harm  to  tell. 

At  half-past  two  exactly,  Polly  stole  in  through  a  kitchen 
window  and  upstairs  in  her  stockings  to  bed,  and  fell  asleep, 
and  woke  up  and  came  fresh  and  smiling  down  to  breakfast, 
none  the  worse  for  her  night's  dreary  frolic. 

•*He  will  be  here  presently,"  was  the  young  lady's  thought; 
and  breakfast  over,  she  went  back  to  her  room  to  get  herself 
up  for  the  occasion. 

jMr.  Fane  came,  and  not  alone.  At  eleven  o'clock  he  drove 
up  in  a  dashing  little  pony  phaeton,  with  cream-colored,  high- 
stepping  ponies,  and  Miss  ]\raud  Charteris  by  his  side.  Polly 
WHS  seated  under  an  arch  of  morning  glories,  reading  Tenny- 
son, posing  for  the  occasion,  and  Mr.  Fane's  speaking  eyi^s 
told  her  pretty  plainly  what  he  thought  of  her  looks.  He  had 
come  to  take  her  to  the  Priory  for  that  first  sitting  for  the 
fair  Rosamond,  and  this  was  Miss  Maud  Charteris,  Miss 
Mason,  and  he  was  Cjuite  sure  each  yoTing  lady  would  \m 
charmed  with  the  other.  IMiss  ^laud  Charteris  gave  Miss 
TVdly  Mason  a  little  half-patronizing,  half-haughty  smile  and 
bow,  which  the  latter  returned  with  equal  hauteur.  She  was 
not  prettv — little  Miss  Charteris.    She  was  jSale  and  sickly  o£ 


.„% 


loo 


Polly's  Misdeeds. 


aHjMH't,  with  nor  fntlnr's  l»Ia<'k  cyps,  iuu\  tnr-hliick  'uiir, 
.--t  raifrlH'  as  an  Iiidian's.  'I'lir  brijiht  silks  wliich  that  (li.riiiR 
lather  Wkod  t(»  st«'  Iht  wear  coiilra.^Utl  har->lil.y  wilh  licr  small, 
I>iii<'h('(i  features  ami  sickly  pallor.  Siie  was  drussed  like  u 
•  loll  MOW,  111  tartan  silk  i>f  hrilliiiiit  hues,  a  wiiitc  lace  searl',  a 
I'aris  hat,  wreathed  with  pink  roselmds,  and  dainty  bootrf, 
and  ^^loves,  and  pink-silk  and  itoint-l.iec  parasol. 

Miss  (.'harteris  dei^ined  to  talk  a  little  to  Miss — aw — Muson, 
as  the  steppers  bore  them  alon^.  Had  sin-  really  lived  all  lur 
life  in  this  <lull,  eountry  town  {  Had  >he  never  l)e<'n  to  school, 
nor  to  I'jiiis— never  even  heen  to  London^  It  must  he  dread- 
fully dull — sueh  a  life.  She  rej^ar<led  the  ^hahhy  merino  and 
the  common  straw  hat  with  pityin/j;  wonder.  She  was  uniM- 
lerahly  cond<'scondin|jr  to  this  dowdy  country  j^irl  whom  Mr. 
Fane  wanted  to  i)aint.  The  litth;  embryo  lady  took  the  airs 
ot  a  ffi'iinfU'  ddini'  as  naturally  a.s  a  duckling  takes  to  water, 
and  wilh  every  (imstion  of  the  disdainful  patrician,  Polly 
^rn-w  more  and  more  anj^ry  and  sulky,  and  sorry  she  came; 
and  it  was  in  a  very  had  humor,  indeed,  that  she  entered  the 
«lusKy  si)lendor  of  the  Pri(»ry,  and  followed  Mr.  Fane  into  an 
aparlMient  where  (lowers  bloomed,  and  birds  san^,  and  beauti- 
ful pictures  were  on  the  walls,  and  tall  vases — taller  than  lie**- 
self — stood,  and  a  Turkey  ('ari)et  covered  the  floor,  and  silken 
drai)eries  hunu-,  and  Parisian  statuett(«s  ^dimmered  in  the  pale 
j-reen  li^lit.  Xo  wonder  Maud  Cliarteris  (lesj)ised  her — Maud 
('hart(M-is,  to  whom  this  jj^orj^eous  temple  was  only  an  everyday 
drawini4-rof>m,  and  who  lived  in  perpetual  tartan  silks. 

Mr.  Fane  left  her  for  a  moment  to  ^^o  in  search  of  Miss 
llautton,  he  said,  who  was  to  sit  for  Queen  Eleanor.  Mis& 
(^hart(MMs  left  her,  exeusinji'  herself  elaborately,  to  remove  her 
hat  and  scarf.  Polly  was  alone.  Silence  reigned.  It  was  like 
a  church.  She  glanced  about  her  in  fiwe.  But  presently, 
throush  a  curtained  arch  at  the  fuither  end  of  the  room, 
voices  came.  One  was  the  voice  of  little  Miss  Maud;  the 
other  the  languid,  haughty  accents  of  Miss  TTautton. 

"Pretty?"  she  was  repeating,  in  rather  a  contemptuous 
tone.  "Did  Mr.  Fane  really  say  so,  Maud?  Tie  must  have 
been  jesting,  surely.  Why,  the  girl  in  white,  with  whom  I  saw 
him  dancing,  was  a  i)erfect  little  dowdy.''       •^ 

"Well,  I  thought  so  too,  Diana,"  said  the  piping  treble  of 
the  little  lady  of  thirteen;  "and  to-day — you  should  ser?  her! 
— such  a  dress,  old  and  faded — and  made — oh!" 

Words  failed  to  describe  the  unfashionable^  make  of  this  old, 
faded  dress. 

"How  tiresome  of  Mr.  Fane  to  fetch  her  here;  and  one 
must  be  civil  to  the  little  creature,  T  suppose.  Pretty!  a  stu- 
pid country  girl,*' with  red  hair  and  freckles." 


Polly's  Misdeeds, 


loi 


Polly  wultc«l  to  lu'iir  n.»  mon';  hvr  lirnrf  folt  full  to  l)Uisf- 
iii^  •   'inrdl.v  knew  \\lutln'r  willi   jitii-ci,,  or   wtHiinhMl   ft'«l- 

iii^'.or  vhat.  Slic  U-.ui  Lccii  in-ullcil,  miclly  iii-^ullrd.  Wij.v 
Iciil  Mr  Faiio  rvt'i  l)nnij;!it  licr  lurc^  She  ^ot  up.  hihI  made 
lici*  way  out — how,  slu-  luirdly  kiirw-  tliroui-'h  luiifjr  >ultt's  of 
r'MMiis,  niid  d;),/ii  tlial  ^rand  gilded  and  rarvtd  -stairway.  S)i(.> 
was  (lul  ot'  the  liou^c,  and  iiitu  tlic  l»i-i^lif  >uii-hiin'.  \*itli  tin; 
.suiMtiicr  wind  l)l(»\\iiiy  in  licr  hot  t'a<'»',  and  a  -wcllitiu'  in  hi'i 
thi'oaf  tliaf  nearly  cliokf-d  her. 

"A  stupid  country  ^irl.  witli  n'd  hair  and  t'rccklol"  That 
dreadful  sentence  ranir  in  her  ear-;  li!>;e  a  death  i<nell  all  the 
way  home. 

I'oUy  worked  for  the  remainder  of  that  day  wllh  an  enerji:,v 
that  completely  astonislu'd  Itosiinna.  Ironinjr  was  m)in^  on, 
and  sh(^  jj^ot  a  talde  t<»  hei's»df.  and  ironed  tho<e  clothe>  with  ii 
vindictive  onerj^y,  that  left  her  idieeks  crimson,  and  her  eyes 
full  of  sitreamin^  li^ht.  She  was  dead  siitnt,  t(»o,  and  de- 
clined taking  hor  tea,  when  teatim*^  came,  and  went  (»ui  into 
tlic  garden  to  lot  the  evening  wind  cool  orF,  if  it  could,  her 
flushed  face.  And  as  she  reaehcil  tlu'  gate,  there  stood  Mr. 
•Mian  Fane  in  person, 

"Miss  Mason — Polly!"  he  hegan.  'Svhat  on  earth  nnide  you 
run  away?  Did  1  leave  you  too  long^  I  give  you  my  word  I 
could  not  help  it,  and  I  hope  vou  are  not  otVendecl.    What  was 

itr 

Polly  looked  at  him  with  flashing  eyes.  She  would  have  cut 
otT  her  right  hand  5*ooner  than  let  him  know  how  she  had 
heen  humiliated. 

'^What  is  it,  Polly?  T  think  you  ^aid  that  I  miglit  call  you 
Polly,"  witrli  a  tender  look. 

"You  may  call  nie  anything  you  phrase,  Afr.  Fane — a 
d(»wdy,  stupid  country  girl,  such  as  T  am.  If  T  were  Aliss 
Diana  Hautton,  or  Miss  Maud  Charteris,  it  would  he  (piite 
another  thing — hut  how  could  a  shahhy,  ignorant,  n^d-liairiMl 
rustic  expect  either  respect  or  courtesy !" 

''Polly — Miss  Mason!  (Ioo<l  Heaven!  has  any  one  itisulte4l 
you?    Who  came  into  the  rooms  whiU^  I  was  away  r' 

"Xot  a  soul,  Mr-  Fane.  l>ut  yon  should  not  he  surprised 
at  anything  a  person  in  my  class  of  life  may  do.  Wc  don't 
know  any  better,  and  T  got  frigh.tened,  very  naturally,  at  all 
the  splendor  about  me;  and  ran  away — jusr  that.  One  word, 
one  look  from  so  grhnd  a  lady  as  the  TToiiorable  ?.[!-■  ir.iutton 
would  have  annihilated  me;  I  ran  away.  Doii'l  waste  your 
time,  T  beg,  Mr.  Fan(^ — go  back  to  ttie  T'riory  and  the  high- 
born ladies  there." 

"You  are  as  thorough  a  lad.y  as  the  best  of  thein,  ■NFisa  Ma- 
son, if  y.      will  pardon  my  presumption  in  saying  8o,  and  T 


if 


B02 


Polly's  Misdeeds 


wouldn't  exchr.nfte  five  miTiu+::  ~vith  you  lor  a  day  with  the 
fairest  of  them !" 

He  told  the  truth — there  was  a  glow  on  his  placid  face  very 
unusual  there.  Polly,  pretty  at  all  times,  was  tenfcild  prettier 
whcTi  thorouffhly  angry.  The  haughty  poise  of  the  lioad,  the 
flashing  fire  in  the  blue  eyes,  the  flush  on  the  oval  cheeks,  the 
ringing  tones  of  the  clear  voice,  became  her  well. 

"Some  one  has  offended — some  one  has  insulted  you,  it  may 
be.  Miss  Mason,  but  it  was  not  I.  If  T  only  dared  put  in 
words  what  I  think  of  you;  bat  no,  even  the  de(^pest  admiia- 
tion  sometimes  appear  impertinence.  Tell  me  you  are  not 
angry  with  me — I  could  not  bear  that,  Polly." 

Tlis  voice  softened  to  a  wonderful  tenderness,  the  eyes  that 
looked  at  her  were  full  of  a  light  that  shot  the  words  home. 
Mr.  Fane  having  spent  the  past  four  years  at  the  business  was 
past  master-  of  the  art  of  love  a  la  mode.  And  Polly's  heart 
stirred  for  an  instant,  and  the  fiery  scorn  died  out  of  her  face, 
and  into  its  place  came  a  beautiful,  tremulous  light;  but  she 
laughed  saucily  even  while  moved. 

"You  are  talking  treason  to  your  sovereign,  Mr.  Fane. 
What  would  Miss  Hauiton  say  if  she  heard  you?" 

"Miss  Hautton  may  go  to  Paradise,  if  she  likes.  What  is 
Mi^s  TIautton  to  me?" 

"The  future  Mrs.  Fane,  or  rumor  tells  awful  stories!" 

"Rumor  does  tell  awful  stories,  always  did.  If  I  cared  for 
l^^iss  Hautton  would  I  be  here?  Polly,  you  must  sit  for  that 
picture,  only,  by  Jove,  I  shall  have  to  paint  you  for  Queen 
Eleanor,  if  you  look  as  you  do  just  nov\  Won't  you  ask  me 
in,  and  give  me  some  tea,  please?  I  came  after  you  in  such 
haste  that  I  never  waited  for  luncheon." 

"What?"  Polly  cried,  "has  it  taken  you  since  one  o'clock 
to  walk  three  miles?  Oh,  Mr.  Fane,  don't  think  me  a  greater 
goose  than  you  can  help.  Come  in,  if  you  like,  and  I  will  seo 
if  Rosanna  will  let  you  have  the  tea." 

"That  doesn't  sound  too  hospitable,"  the  artist  said,  "but 
where  one  is  very  anxious  to  obtain  the  entree,  one  must  not 
stand  on  the  order  of  his  invitation.  We  shall  have  the  sit- 
tings here,  ]\riss  Polly,  instead  of  at  the  Priory." 

Mr.  Allan  Fane  wont  into  the  house,  neeeting  a  rather  cool 
reception  from  both  Duke  and  Rosanna. 

Polly  was  all  mortal  man  coidd  desire,  and  he  lingered  until 
the  moon  was  up,  and  the  loud-voiced  kitchcMi  clock  struck 
nine.  The  girl  went  with  him  to  the  gate,  the  moon  shone 
crystal  clear;  what  a  night  it  was,  what  a  beautiful,  blissful 
world  altogether!  And  'Rosanna  called  life  a  weary  pilgrim- 
age and  earth  a  vale  of  tears. 

**Ms^  I  come_agaiii — and  very  soon,  Polly?'*   ashed  Mr. 


Love's  Ycjng  Dream. 


103 


Fane,  holding  her  hand,  and  locking  irto  tht-  eyes  he  thought 
brig'hter  than  all  tliose  shining-  stars  abovo. 

"Certainly,"  Miss  Mason  responded,  doniurely;  "and  if  yon 
make  such  progress  at  every  sitting*as  you  have  done  at  this, 
l\Ir.  Fniio,  the  fair  Rosamond  will  be  eoni]d(t('(i  before  you 
know  it."  Her  clear  lang-h  rang  out,  the  truth  being  the  art- 
ist had  entirely  forgotten  fair  Kosan'onr,  Allan  Fane  being 
r,()  angYOii^cd  by  Polly  Mason. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


LOVES    YOUNG    DRKAM. 


"Duchess,"  Mr.  Mason  said,  the  following  morning,  as  he 
arose  from  the  breakfast  table,  "when  you're  quite  finished, 
aiul  got-  tlie  dishes  washed,  I  wish  you  would  step  up  to  my 
room  before  you  go  anywhere.    I  have  a  proposal  to  make  to 


yy 


you. 

"Oh!"  said  the  Duchess,  "a  proposal  of  marritige,  Duke?" 

Payiiv^  no  attention  to  the  flippant  iiuiuiry,  the  scene- 
painter  went  on  his  way  upstairs,  to  his  own  peculiar  sanc- 
tum. 

''I  wonder  if  I  could  postpone  it  until  to-morrow,"  he  said 
as  she  entered.  "Shaving  makes  a  man  look  cleaner,  no 
doubt,  but  it  is  an  awful  bother.  Do  you  thitd<  the  bristles 
will  be  too  strong,  if  I  waited  another  day,  Duchess?" 

"Mr.  Mason,  was  that  what  you  reciuested  me  to  come  up 
here  to  decided' 

"No,  Duchess;  don't  be  in  a  hurry."  Duke  turnt^l  from  the 
glass,  and  leaning  forward  looked  at  her.  D.ow  pale  she  was 
in  the  garish  morning  light — how  dull  the  brilliant  eyes — al- 
most as  dull  as  ]\Iiss  Hautton's  own! 

"Duchess  what's  the  matter?  You're  getting  thin.  You're 
losing  your  appetite — you  only  took  two  cups  of  tea  this  morn- 
ing and  three  rolls." 

"Do  you  usually  count  my  cups  of  tea  and  the  number  of 
rolls,  sir?"  cried  Polly,  firing  up,  for  her  powerful  schoolgirl 
fippetite,  so  uidike  her  heroines,  was  rather  a  sore  spot  with 
this  young  ladx, 

^*f^^^|^^rag  thinner  and  pale;  you're  losing  your  good 
looks,  ^liss  Mason.  You  want  a  change,  and  you  shall  have 
it.    Duchess,  you  shall  go  to  hoarding-school!" 

"To  boarding-school,  Duke!"  -^ 

"7'o  boarding-school,  Duchess." 

The  girl's  Tace  flushed,  then  paled;  »he  walked  to  the  win- 
dow, aud  looked  silently  down  the  quiet.  road.^lXo  boarding- 


m  ■ 


■irv 


f04 


Lovers  Young  Dream 


i 


sciiool !  Why,  it  had  been  the  drcf.m  of  hor  ]ife  to;?o  ic  c!  ool 
liitherto,  but  Duke  clung  to  her  brigb.t  presence  with  an  al- 
most selfish  love,  and  could  not  bear  to  part  with  her,  No\7 
lier  dream  was  realized,  ske  was  to  go,  and  her  firsi  sensation 
was  one  of  blank  dismay. 

"Duchess — Polly!"  lie  exclaiined,  in  a  frightened  voice, 
"you  always  wanted  to  go.  Don't  tell  me  you  r».re  going  to 
object  now  I" 

She  turned  from  the  window,  and  the  smile  he  loved  lit  up 
her  face. 

"No,  Duke,  I'm  not  going  to  object.  I'll  go  with  all  the 
pleasure  in  life.  I  need  school  of  some  kind,  goo<lness  knows 
-^such  an  ignorant,  wild,  good-for-nothing  wretch  as  I  am. 
Where  am  1  to  go  ^" 

"'I'o  Bromjiton — to  Miss  Primrose's  establishment.  Squire 
Weldon's  daughter  went  there,  you  know.  And  Fll  take  you 
next  week,  'f  you  think  you  can  be  ready." 

"That's  a  question  for  Rosanna — I  can  be  ready  fast 
enough  if  my  cloth':>s  can.  And  now,  as  I've  got  to  go  into 
town,  ril   bid  you  good-morning,  if  you're  quite  done  with 


V 


me. 

It  was  late  in  tlyj;  afternoon  when  Polly  returned  home,  and 
the  lirst  person  she  beheld  as  she  neared  the  cottage  was  Mr. 
Allan  Fane.  She  had  spent  tlio  whole  morning  in  Speckhaven 
— dioing  with  a  friend  there — and  now  as  the  western  sky  was 
reddening,  she  sauntered  homeward,  tiilling  a  song  in  very 
gladness  of  heart.  It  was  her  fa\T)ri(e  ballad  of  "County 
(5uy,"  and  it  was  of  Guy  Eariscourt  she  was  thinking  as  she 
sang,  lie  reminded  her  of  the  heroes  of  her  books,  with  his 
darkly  hanvlsome  face,  his  large  Italia»i  eyes,  with  that  sleepy 
gohh'n  light  in  their  dusky  depths,  liwd  his  smile,  that  not  Mr. 
Allan  Fane  or  his  brother  could  rival.  She  was  heart-whole 
where  tlie  artist  was  concerned  in  spite  of  her  pique  and  mor- 
tified vanity — a  very  child  playing  at  being  in  love.  And 
there  was  all  a  child's  audacity  in  the  saucy  smile,  and 
glance,  aiid  greeting  she  gave  him  now. 

Allan  Fane  had  been  a  ^.ittle  doubtful  about  his  reception — 
ever  so  little  uneasy. 

"ITow  do,  Mr.  Fane?"  Polly  said,  with  that  /-ipiding  smile. 
"Have  you  heard  the  news?  I  am  going  away — going  to 
echool  in  London — no,  lirompton — for  the  next  two  or  three 
years."  .  •  ,.    • 

"Two  or  three  years !" 

He  did  look  blank.  The  possibility  of  her  going  away  had 
never  occurred  to  him.  He  had  not  given  *the  matter  much 
thought,  but  it  had  seemed  to  him  that  the  bright  summer 
months  would  i)^L^Q  1^  ^^  ii^  pleasant  interview^  Aad  d»- 


hh 


(    ll 


Love's  Young  Dream. 


los 


lijzlitl'iil  sittnj^s  f(»v  Ills  ])i\:tiire.  Thf  tid  must  conio  (khiw 
time,  unci  ho  must  leave  lliis  jzirl  witli  tlic  tav.ny  liair  and  sap- 
1  !iire  eyes,  but  the  eud  had  only  been  glanced  ai  afar  off,  aud 
itiv.\-'i!  lay  a  Moldcii  mist  i/f  lon^^,  dodcious  days  and  w.  -ks. 
And  now  she  was  {^.tiiii^  away,  aud  thei?  liiokc  upo  i  Allan 
l";in(!  tde  truth — that  he  was  in  love! — not  merely  smitten,  hut 
ill  luvp,  with  a  slim,  untutored  little  jiirl,  with  the  manners, 
when  she  tihuse,  of  a  priueess,  aud  the  beauty  of  an  end)ryt> 
i^oddess.  For  the  tirst  time  in  his  life,  after  teuscoro  liirta- 
tions,  Allan  Fam;  was  in  love!  He  was  white  as  a  slieet ;  his 
tvcs,  Ids  voice,  his  careless  attitude  eluuij^i d  in  a  moment. 
1  lie  j^irl  saw  it  with  wonder  aud. delight. 

"\'es,"  she  pnr^la■(l,  mercilessly,  '*!  am  golujif  away  in  a  few 
ii;iys---as  soon  as  ever  my  things  can  he  got  ready — and  f  am 
wild  U,  l)e  g(jue.  Don't  you  think  1  need  it,  .\1  r.  Fane^  Kven 
';i  pictnres(iue  nKalel'  is  the  h<'tter  for  knowing  the  nine  i)arts 
cf  speech  and  how  to  spell  words  of  three  syllables.  Wla  ii 
\u\\  and  Miss  llauttou  go  to  St.  (ieorge's,  llauovcr  Scjuare, 
pit  ase  send  me  the  Morn  In  t]  I'ost  containing  all  the  l)articu- 
l:irs — that  is,  if  you  haven't  forgotten  my  very  existence  h)ng 
befctre  that  time." 

"I  shall  never  forget  you!'' 

He  spokn  the  truth.  Allan  Fane  never  did  forget  her. 
'I  hat  hour  cjune  back  to  him  years  after  with  something  of 
the  pang  he  ii'\X  then.  Weak,  sellish,  he  might  be,  and  was, 
hut  tile  pain  of  loss  was  there,  aud  as  bitter  as  though  he  had 
LctMi  a  slrouger  aud  '.vorthier  num.  That  hfljur  came  back 
ni;iny  times  in  his  aftc^r  life,  and  he  saw  little  Polly  Mason 
<\)i:\\n  with  the  rofl  liglit  of  the  sunset  on  her  sparkling  face, 
and  the  gleams  of  scornful  humor  in  her  flashing  eyes. 

'  Voii  v/ill  never  forget  me!"  she  reiMBatcd,  with  another 
laugh,  that  had  yet  a  tone  of  bitterness  in  it;  "no,  I  suppose 
the  memory  of  the  little  picturescjue  model,  with  the  tawny 
hair,  and  blue  Greuze  eyes,  may  serve  to  amu^e  you  and  iMiss 
llauttou  for  some  time  to  come.  Pray  don't  sjjeak  in  a 
hurry,  Mr.  Fane,  as  I  see  you  are  ahout  to  do.  Who  would 
make  speeches  to  a  little  rustic  schoolgirl?  What  yon  say  to 
-Diana- you  mean.  Our  paths  He  apart — let  us  ^ay 
U(»()d-by,  aud  meet  no  more." 

■'Polly!  what  a  cruel  speech!" 

"A  sensible  one.  Mr.  Fane.  Fet  me  go,  i)ray,"  rather 
Wearily  "Se^^'I  vou'  have  dropjied  .something  from  youj 
pocket!" 

it  was  a  tiny  niorocco  casket,  which  lay  at  his  feet.  Tlo 
picked  it  up,  openetl  it,  iind  took  out  a  ring  that  blazed  iit  the 
biDiakuufe>    It  wa»  «  olueter  diamond.     The  next  instaAi  hm 


io6 


fjove's  YoikHg  Dream. 


!:ii     ^ 


.•■r1i4 


had  repossessed  himself  of  Polly's  band,  and  the  eViJiiing  eh 
clet  shone  on  one  slim  finger. 

He  lifted  the  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it  passionately-  ' 
for  the  first — the  last  time! 

"Wear  it,  Polly,  for  I  love  you!" 

Alas!  for  man's  truth!  A  fortnight  ago  that  ring  had  becu 
ordered  of  a  London  jeweler  to  fit  the  finger  of  Diana  IJaut- 
ton.  lie  meant  to  propose  down  in  Lincolnshire,  and  this  wm 
to  be  the  i^ledge  of  the  betrothal.  Only  an  hour  ago  tlio  Lon- 
don express  had  brought  it,  and  here  it  glittered  on  the  finger 
of  Polly  Mason! 

Heaven  knows  what  further  he  might  have  said,  what  word-, 
what  promises  might  have  been  exchanged;  Polly  might  have 
become  Mrs.  Allan  Fane,  perhaps,  and  this  story  ha<l  nevn- 
been  written,  for  the  great  romance  of  this  young  v.-oniaii's 
life  you  have  yet  to  hear,  but  at  this  instant  (sent  tlieio  ijy  ji'  i' 
guardian  angel,  no  doubt)  there  appeared  upon  the  sc;?*!' 
gaunt  form  of  Kosanna,  summoning  sharply  her  y 
charge  in  to  tea. 

She  tendered  no  invitation  to  the  gentleman.    She  ?;:.>v.\  i 
upon  him,  indeed,  as  this  exemplary  lady  could  seov/j.     K- 
sanna  could  have  told  you  stories  fit  to  make  your  hair  i  -e,  > 
"squires  of  high  degree,"  who  came  a-courting'  villtigc  •iV;iii  . 
and  of  the  dire  grief  and  tribulation  the  aforesaid  ma!.' •  I;<i  ; 
come   to   in   consequence.     Polly   in    love,   indeed!      Pt-lly- 
who  had  taken  her  doll  to  bed  yesterday,  as  it  were,  and  ;^;.)!;; 
it  to  sleep !      '^ 

Mr.  Fane  lifted  his  hat  and  departed  at  once.  Tiie  g'll 
would  not  look  at  him.  She  could  not  meet  the  glance  in  h; ; 
eyes.  ITer  face  was  burnina",  her  heart  thrilling.  She  hid  {hi 
hand  tliat  wore  the  ring,  and  followed  Rosantia  nieekly  iii!) 
the  house.  On  the  stairs  she  met  Duke,  and  Duke,  as  gravely 
as  in  the  morning,  summoned  her  into  his  own  room,  Mi>s 
Mason  felt  she  was  in  for  it. 

"I  wouldn't  let  that  young  man  dangle  after  me  too  mucli, 
if  I  were  you.  Duchess,"  he  began.  "He  isn't  what  he  pre- 
tends to  be;  he's  a  humbug,  you'll  find;  a  false,  fickle,  mean 
humbug !  His  father's  a  very  honest  man,  and  a  good  tailor — 
a  deuce  of  a  screw,  though — but " 

"Duke!"  Polly  cried,  wit'i  indignant  scorn.     "A  tailor!" 


The  young  lady  said  it  in  much  the  same  tone  you  o^' 
miglio  exclaim  "A  demon !" 

"Yes,  Duchess,  a  tailor.    I've  bought  clothes  at  the  shor 
Bond  street  many  a  time,  and  I've  seen  ^r.  Allan.  Fane  w:.\ 
he  was  a  pale-faced  little  shavv?r  in  roundabouts.    He  dopr , 
Nmember  me,  ^i  course^  and  I  don't  enre  about  rejyewbzi^  t 


f 


love's  Young  Dr^am, 


»07 


ecquaintancec    He'-  a  tailor's  son,  fast  onougrh,  and  I  dare  say 
il's  the  only  thiuj^  about  him  nut  to  his  discredit." 

It  was  very  unusual  for  Duke  to  be  bitter,  or  say  cruel 
of  the  absent,  but  ho  felt  terribly  sore  on  the  subject  of 
danditied  artist,  with  his  shining'  boots  jqid  swell  hat,  and 


tln:!gs 


llii- 


while  hands,  and  soft  voice,  making-  a  fool  of  his  little  Polly. 

"lie's  a  humbug,  Ducfhess,  and  he's  trying  to  g(,'t  that  mid- 
dle-aged Mi^s  liautton  to  marry  him.  She's  rich  and  high- 
born, and  he's  only  an  adventurer,  witJi  a  good  address  and  a 
university  educaition.  Don't  take  his  pretty  books,  or  draw- 
ings, or  sit  for  him  as  a  model,  or  hare  anything  to  say  to 
him — that's  a  good  girl.  Duchess." 

"Have  you  anything  more  to  say,  Duke?"  Polly  asked, 
tjuite  meekly. 

She  felt  somehow  that  what  Duke  said  was  true,  but  still — 
she  looked  at  her  ring  and  iier  heart  thrilled  as  she  romeni- 
bered  his  words — ^words  so  sweet  to  every  girl's  ear  and  heart 
— "1  love  you !" 

And  meantime  Mr.  Allan  Fane  walked  home,  and  on  the 
way  found  out  he  had  been  mad,  and  a  fool.  What  had  ho 
done  ?  Given  up  all  the  hopes  of  his  life  for  a  pretty  face  with 
blue  eyes.  Very  good  and  pleasant  things  in  their  way,  but 
not  available  as  ready  casih;  not  to  be  exchanged  for  good  din- 
ners, horses,  opera  boxes,  and  a  house  in  Alayfair.  What 
had  he  done?  Dire  alarm  tilled  him  as  ho  walked  along;  he 
cursed  his  own  folly  and  precipitancy  with  a  fervor  good  to 
hoiu*.  Was  it,  after  all,  too  late  yet?  He  had  not  asked  Miss 
i'olly  Mason  to  be  his  wife. 

He  found  Miss  Hautton  walking  wearily  round  and  round 
the  ureat  iis'li  pond,  and  joined  her  at  once. 

Miss  Hautton,  like  Miss  Mason,  informed  him  she  was  go- 
ii>g  away. 

".Montalien  bores  me,  I  find,"  the  lady  said,  carelessly; 
'•mure  this  ye«r  even  than  usual,  and  the  Duchess  of  Clanron- 

o\(\  is  going  to  the  Italian  lakes,  and  urges  me  to "     A 

dreary  yawn  finished  the  sentence. 

The  Duchess  of  Clanronald! 

Her  grace  of  Clanronald  had  a  nephew — rather  an  impover- 
ished nephew,  who  had  made  hard  running  last  year  for  the 
Hautton  stakes.  No  doubt  he  would  go  to  the  Italian  lakes, 
too.  Starry  blue  eyes,  a  witching,  gyp^y  face,  a  supple  forni, 
find  sixteen  sunny  years,  are  very  well,  if  set  oif  with  dia« 
nionds  and  gilded  with  refined  gold.  He  couldn't  marrv  Poll^ 
Hnson;  he  couldn't  turn  itinert#it  portrait  painter  in  this  dull 

m,  and  merge  his  bright  in,(fividual  star  of  self  into  a 
4   >bbv-hatteda  rate-paying,  tax-fearflig,  cxadle-rockvng^  family 


S'  -f 


',iM  - 


io8      How  Hawksley  Kept  His  Word.  ^ 

man.    It  was  written — it  was  his  fat<:-  -he  nui.st  nnirry  a  lio!' 
wiiV;  iuitl  so — auuj  for  I'olly ! 
.  Ik'foro    Miss    Ihintton's    yawn    w^is   (iiiif(3    ennod,    hr    \v.\i] 
I)oun'(l   forth   tlio  tal;-  cf  liis  ion^  admi ration,  and  iin;»1()r('<l 
her  to  be  his  wife! 

Th()  rosy  hj^ht  of  tho  ;vun  went  down,  and  Diana  llautton 
lingered  Ijy  the  fis.li  i)ond  with  her  a<cei)ted  h)ver.  Jler  ao- 
eepted  lover! 

lie  was  pale  and  cold,  and  something  inside  his  breast,  that 
did  duty  for  a  heari,  lay  like  stone,  but  he  lifted  ono  of  tlw 
Honorable  Di's  skin-cold  hands  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it-  Cold 
as  that  hand  was,  the  touch  of  his  lips  seemed  to  chill  it. 

She  looked  at  him,  and  wondered  at  his  pallor.  But  of 
course  he  was  agitated;  he  loved  her  so,  and  had  dreaded  a 
refusal. 

They  entered  the  house  together  betrothed,  a  satij^fied  8nul(» 
on  Miss  ITautton's  lii)s.  She  liked  him  very  much;  he  wa.s 
handsome,  and  would  make  her  a  devoted  husband.  No  ring 
glittered  on  her  fing(^r — that  would  be  remedied  speedily, 
Mr.  Fane  whispered.  - 

And  three  miles  oti"  a  young  girl — younger,  fairer  even  than 
the  Honorable  Diana  Kautton — stands  watching  that  rosy 
light  in  the  sky  as  it  sparkles  and  flickers  on  the  diamond  cir- 
clet on  her  finger.  And  the  happy  glow  is  in  her  eyes,  the 
happy  smile  still  lingers  on  her  f  aee,  when  all  the  sky  is  dark. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

HOW   HAWKSLEY   KEPT   HIS   WORD. 

It  was  the  third  day  after  Polly  Mason  stood  at  the  parlor 
window,  looking  listlessly  enough  up  and  down  the  deserted 
country  road. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  Polly's  heart  gave  a  leap. 
At  last!  surely  this  was  he!  Duke  came  out  of  the  painting- 
room  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  opened  the  house  door.  A 
portly  lady  in  a  black  silk  dress  stood  there,  a  comfortable- 
looking  basket  in  her  hand — no  less  a  lady  than  Mrs.  Hamper, 
tlie  housekeeper  at  tlie  Priory. 

Mrs.  Hamper,  as  a  visitor  of  distiivctiun,  w^as  ushered  into 
the  parlor,  whither  Kosanna  and  Polly  fdlowed.  Miv^.  Ham- 
per might  not  he  the  rose,  but  slu^  dwelf  near  the  .•<  iondid 
flower — she  was  not  Allan  Fane,  but  she  brought  n(^v^5  of  him, 
no  doubt.  She  would  know  ncfsv  whether  he  were  ill,  or  fals(\ 
and  Polly  sans  on  a  low  chai'r,.and  leaned  her  head  in  a  vvear> 
way  agaius-t  the  baok.   H«v  pretty  face  liad  darkiOircles  under 


How  Hawksley  Kept  His  Word.      109 

the  eyes,  idul  l()(»ko<l  wniiiUM*,  it  seeimd  lo  tlic  housekeeper, 
llinii  she  had  ever  seen  il.  *  ' 

"Voii're  not  looking'  v.cl!,  roily,"  she  remarked,  with  her 
evex  lixed  on  tluit  colorless,  siiuiU  eoinitc  iuiic{\  *'\'(»irre  bil- 
ious or  growing-  too  fast,  may  be.  (Jro'viui;  gii-ls  are  always 
thin.  1  tell  LfXily  C'harteris  Miss  Aland  \iil  lie  less  i>ale  and 
,)uny  when  slie  grows  uj>.  I've  broujiht  y«>u  some  hai)rieols, 
ynd  peaches,  n^y  dear,  which  1  know  yfm're  une(»minon  I'ojul 
ef  both."  !She  opened  her  basket,  displayinj^'  a  tempt  inj»*  heap 
of  fruit.  Polly  thanked  hv.v,  but  rather  spiritlessly  still — slio 
hked  peaches  and  apricots,  but  there  were  other  things  she 
liked  betit'.T. 

"And  liow  are  all  the  g-entry  at  the  great  b.ouse,  Afrs,  ITam- 
povC  Duke  incpiired.  'VLor<l  Alantaiien  got  back  from  town 
yet^'' 

"Xo,  my  lord  had  not  got  hack  yet,  and  everybody  was  well 
at  tlie  gri'at  h(nis(\  The  latest  news — but,  of  ce-.u-se,  Polly  liad 
heard  it  long  ago  from  Alice  Warren^" 

*'\o,  Polly  had  hoard  nothing;  the  rainy  weather  had  kept 
her  indoors,  and  she  was  very  Uusy  getting  ready  to  go  away 
to  boarding-school.    What  was  the  news  ^" 

Her  heart  thrilled  as  she  (jnio'lly  asked  the  qu^tion.  She 
knew  it  was  news  of  Allan  Fane. 

"Why,  the  engagement  of  the'  Honorable  Aliss  ITautton  tx) 
Mr.  Allan  Pane.  Which"  Mrs.  J  Tamper  said,  folding  her 
arms  on  her  fat  st(rtnach,  "1  think  myself  it's  a  lowering  of  a 
hcarl's  granddaughter  to  go  and  marry  a  hartist,  but  tken  she 
ain't  as  young  as  she  was,  and  never  a  beauty  at  best  of  times; 
and  he's  a  very  pleasant-spoken,  good-looking,  young  gentle- 
man, and  free  of  his  money,  I'll  say  that  for  him,  and  tlie 
family  is  willin',  and  it's  been  looked  fonward  to  this  some 
time.  ITe  proposed  io  her  on  Tuesday  hevening  last,  and  he's 
going  ix)  haccompany  her  to  Ilitaly  shortly  for  the  July  and 
Uaugiist  months." 

The  housekwiper  paused  for  breath,  her  eyes  fixed  curiously 
en  P.olly's  face.  Was  it  altogetlier  to  deliver  the  fru>t  Mrs. 
Ihunper  had  stejjped  out  of  her  way  to  visit  Mr.  Mason's?  It 
uns  no  secret  in  the  servants'  hall  at  the  Priory  how  Mr.  Pane 
was  running  after  little  Polly  .Mason,  or  that  Miss  Hautton 
v.as  jealous.  Sh<'  liked  Polly,  this  fat,  fair  and  forty  Mrs. 
ifamper,  but  she  looked  with  expectant  e{',;ern(^ss,  at  the  same 
time*  for  some  sign,  some  t(.l<;'n,  some  cry  of  \)n\n.  There 
v,as  none.  The  pale  face  kept  its  tired  look,  the  long,  dark 
hisi>es  veiled  tlie  blue  ''yes;  Mr.  Allan  Fane  might  fiave  been 
Mr,  Juliii>:  Cysar,  dead  and  gone,  for  all  emotion  that  still 
face  a;id  fiirm  showed 

Diil'Le  looK-pd  at  her,  too,   in  wonder   and  pride  ftt  her 


ill 


^( 


i"' 


no     How  Kawksley-Kept  His  Word, 

«pluck."  "Blood  will  toll,"  ;c  thought;  "she's  like  hoj 
mother — ready  to  die  game!'' 

Mrs.  IIanii)or  rose  to  go,  just  a  trifle  disappointod.  Sh<", 
had  looked  to  sec  anger,  mortification,  sorrow  on  Polly  Ma 
son's  I'lce,  and  she  had  seen  nothing.  The  girl  had  hoard 
the  news  with  utter  indiiierence.  I'erliaps  the  stories  of  th(! 
servants'  hall  were  unfounded  after  all.  It  was  quite  clear 
that  Polly  had  sense,  and  tfiought  nothing  about  him. 

Duke  ac'ojnpanied  the  portly  lady  to  the  door,  and  saw 
her  out,  then  went  baek  to.  his  work. 

"Thank  (Jod!"  he  thought,  "she  doesn't  care  for  the  puppy! 
I'm  not  ordinarily  of  a  pugilistic  nature,  and  don't,  as  a  rul<', 
let  my  angry  passions  rise,  but  if  I  could  give  ISlr.  Allan 
Faae  a  sound  kicking  on  the  first  occasion,  I  think  it  wouM 
do  us  both  good !'' 

PolV  took  her  serving  and  sat  down  by  the, window.  Tho 
wind  grew  wilder,  the  leaden  sky  grew  darker  as  the  after 
noon  wore  on,  tho  raindrops  began  pattering  once  more 
against  the  glass.  And  in  the  young  girl's  breast,  as  she  sat, 
her  needle  flying,  a  sharp  and  cruel  pain  ached.  She  had  btH'M 
,  fooled,  derived,  laughed  at,  her  woman's  pride  hurt  to  the 
corjG — she  could  never  again,  her  life  long,  have  the  same  per- 
fect faith  in  man  or  woman.  She  had  lost  something,  the  in- 
effable bloom  of  perfect  innocence  and  childlike  trust,  and 
Allan  Fane's  was  the  hand  that  had  brusihed  it  off. 

"How  dare  he!  how  dare  he!"  she, thought,  her  little  haul 
clenching  again ;  "how  dare  he  trifle  with  me  so !" 

She  sat  there  for  over  an  hour,  her  anger  rising  and  swell- 
ing with  every  instant.  The  rainy  twilight  was  falling,  when 
suddenly  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  She  knew  that 
knock;  her  work  dropped,  but  before  she  could  rise  the  door 
was  opened,  and  the  visitor,  hat  in  hand,  walked  in.  He  had 
come  at  lastf 

Allan  Fane  stood  before  her,  his  light  summer  overcoat  wot 
with^  rain,  his  high  riding  boots  splashed  with  mud,  palo, 
paler  than  herself!  \ 

She  spoke  first — he  could  not  have  uttered  a  word. 

"You  have  come  for  my  congratulations,  Mr.  Fane,"  she 
began,  in  a  clear,  ringing  voice,  that  had  neither  quiver  nor 
tremor  in  it.  "I  hear  you  are  engaged  to  the  Ilonorablo 
Diana  Hautton.  Well!  you  have  them!  It  is  an  eminently 
suitable  match  in  every  respect;  age," — ^with  cruel  emphasis 
— "birth,  fortune,  rank,  and  all!" 

He  looked  at  her  with  horror-struck  eyes.  What  did  she 
mean  by  that  stinging  sneer  ?  Did  she  know  of  that  Bond 
street  shop  ?  Oh,  impossible  I  It  was  but  a  random  shot  ih&i 
bad  hit  home. 


k 


How  Hawksley  Kept  His  Word. 


! ' ' 


"It  is  no*  ovc^ry  dny,"  piii«!r.od  '^\\m  MnsoTi  with  a  smile 
iliat  stunt?  ^'-ini,  "that  tlie  bdii  of  a  J.oiuion  tailor  gets  ai'  op- 
portunity of  ninrrj'iupr  ini  carl's  graiiddaug-liter!  Ah  !  you  feel 
iliat,  Mr.  Fane!"  with  a  scornful  lau^Hi.  "I  know  ymir  scori't, 
Vou  SCO,  so  carefully  guardcMl!  Hut  don't  be  alarmed,  I  won't 
-o  to  the  Priory,  and  tell  IVIi-.s  llautton.  I  am  nfr;iid,  as  de- 
votedly as  she  is  alt^iehed  to  you,  slie  might  iilt  you  if  nhe 
knew  it.  I  won't  tell,  Mr.  Fane,  and  I  wish  you  every  happi- 
ness so  suitable  a  mateh  d(>serves — if  the  poor  scene-painter's 
(loor  relation  may  presume  to  offer  congratulations  to  a  genlle- 
)iian  of  Mr.  Fane's  standing!  And  this  ring,  which  you  so 
kindly  forced  upon  my  accei)tanee  the  night  before  la>t" — her 
voice  faltered  for  the  fi-  t  time — "permit  me  to  return  it.  Tf 
you  haven't  purchased  an  engagement  ring  for  ^liss  Uautton, 
I  dare  say  you  m'ght  make  this  ansAver." 

lie  broke  down.  ITe  wa»s  of  a  weak  nature,  impressionablo 
as  wax,  but  as  strongly  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  love  no 
one  but  himself,  ho  loved  this  girl. 

IFe  broke  down  as  a  woman  nn'ght — ^liis  face  hidden  in  his 
hands — his  voice  faltering,  and  asked  her  to  forgive  him. 

She  stood  and  looked  at  him — rage,  wounded  pride,  humil- 
iation, scorn,  pity,  all  in  her  glance.  Tf  she  'had  never  been 
beautiful  before  she  was  beautiful  in  this'moment. 

"Forgive  you,"  she  repeated,  and  the  hard  ring  died  out  of 
lier  voice  and  a  great  pathos  followed.  "You  a.-k  me  to  for- 
cive  you  !  Well,  Mr.  Fane,  I  will  try.  It  is  not  that  I  care  for 
you  nuich — no,  Allan  Fane,  I  know  now  I  never  cared  for 
yon,  but  you  have  hurt  me  all  the  same.  I  shall  never  have 
the  same  faith  in  mankind  again — I  seem  to  have  lost  my 
youth  in  the  moment  it  became  mine.  You  have  acted  badly 
to  me — badly!  badly!" — the  fire  that  can  only  blaze  in  blue 
eyes  flashed  from  hers  now — "but  I  will  try  and  forgive  you 
if  T  can.     Take  your  ring!" 

"I  cannot;  oh,  Polly!" 

She  flung  it  at  'his  feet  in  a  sudden  tempest  of  fury — the 
quick  fury  of  a  very  child. 

"Don't  ever  call  me  Polly — how  dace  you  do  it?  Take  your 
ring  this  moment  or  I  will  walk  straight  out  of  this  house  up 
to  the  Priory,  and  tell  Miss  Hautton  every  word !  And  your 
hooks,  and  your  drawings — here  they  are — everything  you  ever 
^ave  me,  except  the  flowers,  and  those  T  threw  into  the  five  an 
hour  ago.    Take  them,  I  command  you,  Mr.  Fane!" 

What  could  he  do  but  obey  ?  He  was  afraid  of  lier  in  that 
hour — afraid  of  her  even  if  sh6  had  not  known  his  secret,  but 
that  made  him  her  abject  slave.  ITe  took  the  ring,  he  took 
the  little  package,  and  a  very  sorry  figure  the  conquering  hero 
cut  in  the  hour  of  his  triumph.    It  struck  Polly ^s  sense  of  the 


U2     how  Hawksley  Kept  HisVvonf. 

luditToiis.  Ill  nil  trn,u:e(li('s  do  not  the  clcnuuifs  of  tho  ridicu- 
lous linger^  and  she  burst  out  laughing,  with  tiio  pat^siouatd 
learti  still  in  her  cyos. 

"Y^ou  look  like  a  colportour  goinj[>:  liis  rounds  with  Ir.-u'ts. 
Don't  let  nio  dc'tiiin  you  nn  instant  longer,  Mr.  Fan<-;  Mis.^ 
Jlantton  niay  want  y(tu.  ^'(»n  havo  had  y<»nr  sport;  and  a  vet- 
dant  lilthwtountry  girl  has  hoipi-d  whih;  away  a  siniinicr  iioii 
day,  so  there,  is  no  Jiced  ',o  linger  now;  I  have  congratuhile<| 
you,  and  given  you  your  helonging's  Iniek,  and  novv  tho  sooner 
we  say  good-hy  tho  better." 

Slie  made  him  a  low  bow — Miss  llautton  eould  nev(n*  havn 
sni  passed  it  in  graec  or  insoleiU'(? — ^and  walked  straight  out  of 
the  room.  And  Allan  Fano  left  the  liouse,  and  eoming  lo  the 
garden  well  flung  his  bundle  of  books  to  the  bottom.  Ho 
might  havo  flung  the  ring  after,  but  <liamond  rings  cost,  anil 
—  and  so  he  put  it  in  his  poeket,  and  went  Uaek  to  his  high- 
bnru  bride.  And  an  hour  after  he  plaeed  it  oi\  her  linger,  and 
Diana  deigned  to  say  she  thought  it  "rather  pretty." 

The  lord  of  the  Priory  had  arrived  by  the  seven  o'eloek 
train,  bringing  with  him  a  short,  S(»mbre,  stout  man,  with  a 
legal  look.  He  was  legal — he  was  Mr.  Crijjper,  of  th(^  firm 
(}rii)pcr  &  Grinder,  Lineoln's  Fun,  London;  and  he  and  Lord 
Montalien  were  eloseted  together  on  important  business  for 
some  time  after  their  arrival.  IVfr.  (Jrii)i)er  (mierged  at  last, 
and  was  sho^vu  to  his  room.  He  was  staying  over  night,  it 
seemed;  and  Mr.  Fane  was  shown  into  the  library,  where  my 
lord  sat. 

The  curtains  were  drawn,  the  lamps  shone,  while  outside 
the  rain  fell  and  the  blaek  Juno  night  shut  down.  My  lord 
sat  in  his  great  armchair,  near  a  writing  table,  staring  in  n 
dazed  sort  of  way  at  the  lamp  before  him.  ITis  usually  placid 
face  wore  a  strange  expression,  half  perplexity,  half  disnniy. 
For  Mr.  Fane,  as  the  servant  ushered  him  in,  also  looked 
pale  and  strangely  disturhed,  and  both  were  so  ab*4orbed  in 
their  own  thoughts  that  neither  nod:iced  the  expression  of  the 
other's  face. 

Mr.  Fane  took  a  seat  opposite,  looking  singularly  nervous 
indeed.  I  am  given  to  understand  by  masculine  friends  wlio 
havo  done  the  business,  that  asking  the  consent  of  a  youn?.: 
lady's  papa,  or  guardian,  is  much  more  disagreeable  than  ask- 
ing the  young  lady  herself.  Mr-  Fane  had  got  through  hi>^ 
part  with  Miss  TTautton  glibly  enough,  and  this  asking  Lord 
Montalion  was  tho  Tnorest  matter  of  form;  still,  like  Mne- 
heth's  "Am^n, '  the  words  "stuck  in  his  throat."  Lord  Monta- 
lien wrenched  his  thoughts  away  from  his  own  absorbing 
topic  with  an  evident  effort,  and  listened  with  bland  suavi^ 
to  the  young  man's  stumbling:  words. 


in 


rf 


micr  Moll 


How  Hawksley  Kept  Hfs  Word,      i  i ) 

'Wish  to  ninrry  Diuiwi.  jiiul  ask  my  c.iiispTif  ^  My  diar  Ixiy, 
niy  '(Mist'iit  is  »iuil('  iiiin»c«'-,siii'y,  ms  voii  know.  V»'ry  t'or- 
Yi'i't  of  you,  IIiou^aIi,  to  coiiK'  to  iiu'.  Of"  ('(Hii-ic,  I  have  \<>uti 
f»^roso(ii  tills,  and,  as  Diana  srcriis  pleased,  1  sinccri'ly  oII.t 
you  my  ('on;j:iMtuIal  ions.  'I'licrc's  some  trillinj^  disparity  of 
yoars,  I  am  awMc,  l»ut  you  know  the  Scotcli  havo  a  sayiiiK"* 
tiiaf   for  flio  wifo  1^  Ih»  tlic  elder  l»riiifis  luck  fo  tla^  lior.se." 

Mr.  l-'ano  said  nothing;  but.  he  h)ok<'(l  soniewiiat  ru<f)d.  Ilo 
was  ihinkin^f  lie  would  rather  dispense  withui  little  of  tho 
IneK  and  have  the  "Irillinjj;'  (lisi)arity"  on  the  other  side. 

"Tlim  I  have  your  ap]»rM\al,  my  k.rd,''  Ik  saiil,  rl-inir,  "and 
may  eonsider  all  thiji<;s  settled?" 

"Vou  liave  my  approval  and  best;  wishes.  Diana  Is  certainly 
old  enough  to  act  for  herself"— a^;a in  the  youn^r  ,,ian  winced  - 
''and  her  ii.-'ome,  as  you  miisf  know,  dies  with  her.  l>y  Hie 
hy,  l'"an(\" — ehan^'inV  his  voice  with  abrupt ne^'i-'*yon  mixed 
a  ^'ood  deal  amonj^'  the  i)eople  at  the  f<'/>'  the  otiu'r  day.  and 
may  know — was  there  a  man  by  the  name  of — of  Trowel — no 
Mason,"  referring' to  his  tabh^s,  "hereupon  that  occasion?" 

Allan  Fane  startecl,  more  nervously  than  befoi-e. 

''There  is  a  man  by  the  name  of  l^fason  living-  about  threo 
miles  from  here.  Mason  is  a  eoiumon  nam(%  however;  there 
may  be  many  Masons  in  Speckhaven." 

"So  there  may.  The  fellow  T  mean  is  called  Afarmadnko 
^Nfason,  and  has  a  maiden  sister,  llosamond — Rosalind-  no, 
Rosanna,"  referring  to  the  tablets  again.  "By  occupation  a 
scone-painter." 

"That  is  the  man,  my  lord.    Ves,  T  know  him." 

"And  he  has  a  ward — she  passes  for  his  cousin,  a  girl  of 
sixteen— called  Polly?" 

TTad  Lord  Montalien  not  been  so  engrossed  by  his  tablets 
and  questions  he  must  have  notice<l  Mr.  Fane's  greatly  dis- 
turbed face. 

"Ves,  my  lord,  there  is  a  Polly  Mason!" 

"That's  the  girl!"  His  lordship  shut  up  his  tablets  with  a 
triumphant  snap.  "Xow,  what's  she  like?  Fll  lay  my  life  she 
has  tliick  ankles,  a  f.incohishire  accent,  and  a  turne<l-up 
nose!" 

"You  would  lose  your  stake,  then,  my  lord.  Miss  Mason  is* 
■ — with  something  of  an  effort  he  said  this  —"one  of  the  vei*y 
handsomest  girls  T  ever  saw  in  the  v/holo  course  of  my  life." 

"Ah!  is  shci"  his  lordship  siglicd  resignedly:  "all  the  worse 
for  me.  An  heiress  and  ward  v/ith  a  snub  nose  would  bo 
trouble  enough,  but  a  ward  with  a  Grecian  nasal  appen<latro 
and  eighty  thousand  pounds  to  her  fortune!  Ah,  well,  my  lifa 
has  been  one  long  martyrdom — this  is  onlj  tho  last  straw  that 
very  likely  will  break  the  cainePs  backl" 


:5.  ■.  .-i 


i;'i 


114     How  Hawksley  Kept  His  Word. 

Allan  Fano  looked  at  the  fipoitkor  with  a  fwco  of  ghk^.iy 
^orulor. 

"Aly  lord,"  he;  snid,  "I  doTi't  iiiidrrstMiid.  Polly  Mn-ion  is  no 
hcircs' — sho  is  thia  sccne-paiiitcr'n  poor  print ioa  brought  up 
out  of  charity." 

"My  jfood  follow,"  Lord  Moiitjilicn  Piiid,  i)lnintiv('ly,  "shoe's 
nothiti^  of  thci  kind.  She  is  luy  ward,  aiid  sho  lias  ci^dit.y 
tliousiind  pounds  at  this  nioniont  deposited  in  the  funds  lor 
her  benefit.  No,  don't  look  so  iniplorin^^ly — it's  too  l<»ng  a 
etory  to  t^'ll  ymi.  There's  the  dressing-bell— you  shtdl  all  hour 
it  at  diimer." 

Ho  arose.  Alhtn  Fano  quitted  the  room,  and  wont  U])  to 
his  own.  J  To  did  not  seek  his  aftinneed — ho  was  a{.hast  with 
wouder  and  alarm.  What  did  it  mean?  Eighty  thraisujid 
pounds  and  Polly -Mason! 

Tlio  great  bell  elanging  high  np  in  the  windy  fjurels,  at 
half-past  seven,  informed  Sj)eekhav<'n  and  its  inhaltitants  that 
my  lord  and  his  family  were  about  to  dine.  Lord  Mitnialirn 
took  advantage  of  a  few  minutes  before  going  into  diniu^r, 
and  presented  his  congratulations  to  his  eousin  '^)iana  on  tlu9 
interesting  episode  in  her  life.  Mr.  Ciripper  br.'Tif^lit  up  tlio 
rear  of  the  dinner  proeession  with  CJuy,  and  wa-  intr(;du''ed 
to  the  other  people  around  the  table. 

"IFe  doesn't  look  like  the  harbinger  of  romnneo  or  n  fairy 
godfather,  c./  anything  of  the  kind,"  Lord  ?kIontalk'n  re- 
marked; "nevertheless  he  is.  TTe  comes  t/)  infonii  n  litll« 
country  girl  of  sixt-c>en  that  she  is  my  ward,  and  heiress  of 
eighty  thousand  pounds.  Do  any  of  you  beside  Faiio  kn(jw 
her?    Her  name  at  present  is  Polly  Miison!" 

Lord  Montalien  glaneed  around  his  own  board,  and  was 
somewhat  surprised  at  the  sensation  the  very  oonii:ifin])biee 
name  of  a  very  commonplace  young  person  created.  Diana 
Hautton  started,  and  turned  an  icy  look  upori  lier  k»ver — that 
gentleman  fixed  his  eyes  upon  his  plate  and  seemed  slowly 
petrifying — Guy  suppressed  a  whistle  and  looked  imuttcrable 
things — and  my  Lady  Charteris'  spoon  dropped  into  her  soup- 
plate  with  a  clash — Francis  Earlscourt  was  eagerly  interested^ 
and  Sir  Vane,  after  one  steady  look  at  his  pallid  and  startled 
wife,  waited  with  composure  for  the  peer's  next  words. 

"Well,"  said  his  lor^^hip,  "you  all  look  as  if  you  knew  her. 
Being  so  interested  before  I  begin,  how  will  you  be  thrilled 
before  I  have  finished?  Shall  I  go  back  and  begin  at  the  be- 
ginning with  this  romance  of  real  life,  as  the  Penny  Herald 
calls  its  lightning-and-thunder  serials.     Yes,  I  will?" 

Lord  Montalien  pushed  away  his  soup,  leaned  back  in  his 
ehair,  and  began  to  "thrill"  his  hearers. 

"It's  just  fourteen  years  a^o,  on  the  second  of  last  AorlL 


How  Hawksley  Kept  His  Word.      .15 

\..dt  -  Joft  New  YorU  for  Livrrjtool.  I  n'mcmlxT  the  ds''  \ 
Iwcunise  of  the  profnuiu!  n-Rij't  willi  which  I  h'lt  Anirrid'.. 
V\v  I  )t  had  imn'h  of  what  the  wurM  m-inTally  <*aIU  '••iijoy- 
iiH'Mt'  ill  JJi.y  life"-  th«'  piifhctii'  ti,:u'  of  the  spoakcr  was  rc- 
iiiarkahu^  to  hear — "hut  i  think  lh<i-.»'  niii(>  iiuuithM  out  thcro 
iiiiioii^  till'  licnlrt  of  wihl  hullah>,  aiui  herds  (tf  vvihlrr  Indians, 
on  tlu)  VVcstorn  phiins  cani.'  in  anT  il  than  *  shall  rvor  como 
aM'ain.  'I'hc  passcnRcTs  ol  the  /jtiiid  of  i'ulumhia  wrro  tim 
usual  sort  of  people  imo  nioets-^rieh  mereantile  and  inatuifa**- 
turiuK  peof»l(!  from  the  N(»rth  'I'u  eiti(;s,  with  niillio!i8  of  dol- 
lars, f^oin^  over  to  niako  the  j^rand  tour,  'I'herc  was  only  one 
aniou^'  thcni  I  ever  fouri(l  worth  tin*  trouhle  (jf  talking  to.  and 
h(^  was  a  s(U'f»nd-elass  lelhrvv — sjtjendid  proportiitiis — tall  and 
molded  like  an  atliletic  Apollo,  with  a  ix\vx\  full  of  intelli- 
pi  neo  and  self-repression.  Self-repres.sion  in  man  or  woman 
I  like,  'j'his  man  looked  as  if  he  had  a  story — he  pu/./led  nw 
--  to  he  pu/z.led  means  to  he  inter<'stedr.  1  was  itterestcd  iti 
Mr.  Kohert  Hawksley;  and  on  the  h»st  day  out,  he  told  me  his 
^tory,  menti(jning'  no  names,  not  his  own — tli«  name  ho  wont 
hy  on  shiphoard,  even  then.  I  suspected,  at  limes,  to  W  as- 
sumed. 

"He  was  an  Kn^rlishnian,  the  oidy  son  of  a  yeonian  farmer, 
hut  educated  as  a  Kfitleman.  lie  had  hoeii  two  or  throe  years 
heforo  secretary  to  a  man  in  Staifcjrdshire.  I  think  h(»  said 
this  man  had  a  daughter  or  niece,  1  forget  which,  a  great 
heiress,  a  irroat  heauty,  and  six  years  his  junior.  She  was 
home  from  schiKDl,  romantic  as  all  girls  home  from  school  are, 
and  she  meets  my  handsome  secretary.  What  would  you 
have'^  Why  fall  in  love  with  each  other,  of  course — run 
away  to  Scotland,  and  be  married  !'] 

My  lonl  paused.  The  fish  had  heen  placed  uprtn  the  table, 
and  he  took  his  knife  and  fork  and  refreshfsd  himself  with  a 
little  turbot.  And  over  the  face  of  Sir  Vane  Charteris  a 
strange,  dark  change  was  passing,  and  over  the  face  of  my 
lady  a  deathly  whiteness  had  come.  She  leaned  a  little  for- 
ward, her  lips  apart,  her  great  eyes  dilat(Ml — heedless  of  her 
husband,  of  lier  dinner,  of  the  people  who  jooked  at  her. 
What  story  was  this  she  was  hearing'^ 

Lord  ^lontalien  complacently  set  it  all  down  to  his  own 
"thrilling"  powers  of  narration,  and  placidly  went  on: 

"Well,  those  two  foolish,  unfortunate,  happy  younj?  lovers 
kept  their  secret  for  four  months;  th(Mi  the  truth  canio  out, 
and  then  there  was  the  deuce  to  j)ay.  Little  missy  was  spirited 
away;  my  handsome  secretary,  through  some  nefarious  ))!ot 
on  the  part  of  the  guardian,  was  found  guilty  of  robbing 
money  and  jewels,  and  obliged  to  fly  England.  Now,  two 
years  after,  he  had  made  a  home  and  competonoe,  and  iiz  v    i 


*l(  ' 


;  I 


u6     How  Ha wksley  Kept  His  Word. 

i-cturiiing  to  seek  out  his  wife  and  take  her  back  to  that  new 
world.  We  jtarttMl  oii  thf  <iuay.  As  wo  shook  hands  I  made 
hhii  promise  that  if  ever,  in  any  way,  1  could  serve  him,  he 
W(tuld  conimand  me.  I  liked  the  lad  greatly — it  was  a  brave 
and  loyal  nature,  J  truly  believe. 

"Well,"  said  l.ord  ^lontalien,  taking  a  little  more  turbot, 
"fourteen  years  passed,  and  I  heard  nothing  mora  of ,  or  from, 
Air.  RolK-rt  Ilawksley  until  yesterday.  Tntil  j'Csterday,  when 
when  Mr.  flaiues  (jii'ii)per  here,  called  upon  me  and  in  Formed 
me  J  was  xtlicited  to  become  guardian  of  a  young  lady, 
heircsb  of  eighty  thousand  j)ounds,  and  jiresenting  me  with  a 
letter  containing  further  particulars.  The  Ic'tter  was  all  the 
way  from  San  Francisco,  and  from  my  old  acquaintap,ce, 
Hawkslcy.  Jle  recalled  the  ))romise  1  had  voluntarily  made, 
and  in  the  most  manly  ami  frank  way  asked  me  to  fultill  it 
now  by  becoming  t|^e  guardian  and  protector  of  his  only 
child.  And  he  told  me  his  story  in  brief,  from  the  time  of 
our  parting  oil  the  Liverpool  dock. 

"ife  had  found  his  wife — the  wife  (»n  whose  fidelity  he  said 
to  me  on  shij)l)oard  he  could  have  staked  his  existence — how 
do  you  thiid<^  At  the  altar — the  bride  of  another — a  man  to 
whom  she  had  been  engaged  before  he  had  met  her.  of  her  own 
rank  and  station,  There  are  other  Enoch  Ardens  in  the 
world  besides  Mr.  Tennyson's  hero,  lie  left  England  again 
without  speaking  a  word  to  her,  and  he  has  never  returned 
since.  But  by  some  mystery,  which  he  does  not  explain,  he 
discovered  that  his  wife  had  given  birth  to  a  child — a 
<laughter — iive  months  after  his  first  flight  from  England, 
which  child,  at  two  years  old,  she  had  given  to  a  scene- 
])ainter,  named  Alason.  and  his  sister,  to  bring  up.  Ilr  found 
the  child,  begged  the  Mason  people  to  take  every  care  of  her, 
and  they  shouhl  be  one  day  well  rewarded.  That  day  has  now 
conic.  In  the  California  gold  mines  this  man  has  made  a 
fortune.  Eighty  thousand  pounds  he  has  deposited  to  be  his 
lucky  daugiiter's  dowry,  and  1  am  appointed  her  guardian. 
\Jo  asks  me  to  place  her  at  a  school  where  she  will  be  become 
<^ducated  in  a  nmnner  befitting  the  station  in  life  she  is 
<leslinod  to  till;  and  he  says  that  she  may  droj)  the  cognomen 
of  'Polly  Mason'  for  her  own  rightful  name  of  Pauline  Lisle. 
Prom  this,  tlierefore,  it  is  ]dain  that  instead  of  his  name  being 
Hawkslcy.  it  is  Hubert  Lisle!" 

Lord  Mont  alien  naused — not  that  he  bad  tinished  by  any 
means  with  bis  interesting  story — but  at.  that  moment,  with  a 
gasping  cry.  Lady  Charteris  fell  forward,  her  head  on  the 
table.  All  started  up;  her  husband  lifted  her  in  his  arnw,  al- 
most as  ghastly  as  herself.     She  had  fainted  dead  awayl 


CIIAI'TEU  Vlll. 


'\ 


i(  ! 


LADY    ClIAllTKKIS  IIKAUS  TIIK   TUUTIJ 


As 


the  night  wore  on  the  rain  increased.  ,\i  ha!:-past 
eleven,  when  Duke  and  Polly  left  the  tiieatrc  it  was  piu-li 
dark  and  pouring  iorrents.  Polly  did  not  mind  the  r;Mii;  in 
her  strong  young  girlhood  she  had  not  had  halt'-a-do/.en 
c'o'ds  in  her  lifetime,  and  the  two  had  a  niee,  htug,  muddy 
walk  through  the  blackness.  Hackney-coaches  thcrc^  were,  hut 
all  had  been  monopolized  by  greater  folks  than  the  xviic- 
l)aiiiter  and  his  cousin.  Tliey  trudg<>d  contentedly  aloni;',  and 
who  was  to  tell  either  that  it  was  for  the  last  time^  That 
with  the  new  day,  so  near  breaking,  a  new  life  was  to  dawn 
for  this  girl  of  sixteen'^ 

Rosanna  was  up,  waiting  with  dry  clothes,  a  good  lire,  and  a 
cozy  little  supper.  She  was  very  tender  with  her  child  now 
that  she  was  going  away  to  school.  Polly';;  spirits  had  risen 
with  the  walk  in  the  fresh  sunnner  rain;  they  wci'c  too  elastic 
to  be  long  depressed,  and  then  her  wound  was  oidy  skin  dc(^p. 

The  scene-painter,  with  a  yawn,  took  up  his  bedroom  can- 
dle, bade  his  sister  good-night,  and  was  turning  to  quit  the 
room,  whjir^ere  came  such  a  knock  at  the  front  door  as  liter- 
ally made  him  drop  it  again  with  amaze.  A  knock  that 
echoed  through  the  whole  house,  at  a  quarter  to  one,  of  a 
pouring  pitch-black  June  morning.  The  master  of  the  houso 
looked  at  his  sister  agha  t. 

"Who  can  it  be,  Rosanna,  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  ?" 

'''(live  mo  the  light  and  I'll  soon  see,"  retorted  the  intrejiid 
Kosaniia;  and  taking  the  candle  her  brother  had  dropped,  she 
marched  straight  to  the  door  and  flung  it  open. 

Whoever  Miss  Rosanna  Mason  expected  to  see,  it  was  evi- 
dent she  did  not  expect  the  visitor  she  beheld,  for  with  a  lond, 
startling  cry  she  recoiled.  At  that  cry  Polly's  curly  head, 
peeping  curiously  over  the  banister,  caiiie  down  another  step 
or  two.  Duke  from  his  place  in  the  kitchen  advanced,  and 
there,  standing  on  the  thresliold,  drenched  through,  splaslu^d 
V\-ith  I'.ind,  pale  as  death,  with  wild  eyes  and  disordered  fmir, 
lie  saw — Lady  Charteris!  Lady  Charteris,  alone,  wet 
through,  so  far  from  home,  and  at  that  hour.  Some  pro- 
phetic instinct  made  him  understand  all.  lie  took  the  can- 
dle from  his  sister'si  hand,  and  whispered  in  her  oar:  , 

"For  (irod's  sake,  nmke  Polly  go  to  l)ed  I" 

Rosanna  left  obediently,  awed  by  the  sight  of  that  awfuily. 
oorpsclike  faoe,  \         ^  * 


iKf, 


ml  * .  '^ 


J  0 


•\- 


ii8      Lady  Charten..  Hea  :  the  Truth. 

''Co:  -c;  ill,  Lrdy  Ohtirtcris/'  Duke  sai^'  gravely.  "You  will 
i^vi  your  (loath  staiKling  there  in  the  rain.     Are  you  alone?" 

She  did  not  answer  the  question.  She  came  in  and  stood 
before  him  in  tlie  warm,  lighted  kitchen,  her  w^t  garments 
dripping  on  the  white  floor,  her  loose  hair  falling  aixmt  her 
face,  her  great  black  eyes  fixed  with  spectral  solemnity  on  tlie 
man. 

'Duke   Mason,"  she  said,  in  a  hoarse,   unnatural   sort  of 
voice,  "you  have  deceived  nie,  and  I  trusted  you!     My  hus 
band  is  alive  ?" 

"].:uly  Charteris!" 

A  dull,  red  glow  leaped  up  in  the  dusky  depths  of  her  great 
eyes. 

"i  am  not  Lady  Chorteris,"  she  said,  in  the  same  still,  com- 
prt^sst-d  tone,  "and  you  know  it!  I  have  never  for  one  hour 
had  a  right  to  that  hated  name.  I  am  Robert  Lisle's  wife, 
and  Robert  Lisle  is  alive,  and  you  know  it." 

"My  lady " 

"You  know  it,"  she  repeated.  "You  have  deceived  me  loup: 
enough,  all  of  you.  I  am  no  child.  I  will  be  deceived  no 
longer.  This  night  you  will  tell  me  the  truth.  I  have 
walkecl  three  miles  through  darkness  and  storm  to  hear  the 
truth  and  you  shall  spei^k  it.  On  the  day — the  accursed  day 
• — upon  whicih  I  stood  at  the  altar,  Sir  Vane  Charteris'  bride, 
rioleit,  my  Robert,  my  htisband,  my  love,  was  in  the  church 
looking  at  my  perjury.  A.nd  you  knew  it  like  the  rest,  and 
lil<".  the  rest  have  hidden  it  from  me — you  knew  how  I 
loved  him — you  whom  I  never  wronged." 

Her  voice  sank  to  an  unutterable  pathos,  her  eyes  looked  at 
hi;n  unutterably  sad,  unutterably  reproachful.  Duke  fairly 
g:nt>  way. 

"1  did,  my  lady — forgive  me  if  you  can!  It  was  wrong — I 
ibowaht  so  from  the  first,  but  what  could  I  do?  ITe  bade  me 
ke(  1)  liis  secret  from  you— from  you  most  of  all  on  earth." 


"Tie — you  mean — 


//>" 


"j  mci'n  the  man  who  called  himself  RoL"'rt  ITawksley — 
who  was  Robert  Lisle,  as  I  know  very  well  now,  and  your  hus- 
b.:  'd.  You  were  out  of  England — he  bound  me  by  a  promise 
nev<r  to  reveal  his  existence  if  I  chanced  to  meet  you  again. 
What  could  I  do,  ray  lady?  I  don't  know  how  you  have  found 
t^iis  out;  the  whole  thing  is  so  confused  that  I  hardly  know 
wb.ich  is  the  right  and  which  is  the  wrong.  I  wanted  to  tell 
you  that  night  at  Montalien  Park,  V»nt  I  feared — T  feared! 
What  '■■Lht  had  1  to  tell  you  were  the  v;ife  of  two  living 
husbanil-;,  bound  to  each  by  the  tie  of  moLiierhood  ?  And  so 
1  held  my  peace,     I  am  sorry  for  you,  my  lad  — sorry  from 


P.ady  Cha.teris  Hears  the  Truth.       n9 

my  in..-:-t  heart.  T  would  liclp  you,  Heaven  knows,  if  I 
could." 

"Vou  can!"  »lic  said,  still  rctainiiif^-  that  deep,  uiiiiiitural 
calm.  "1  have  eoiao  to  ^vou  ior  help.  Tv.ice  iutron^  you  aided 
mo  in  my  {^reat  need;  now  help  nic  for  the  third  time,  in  a 
gr(»ator  extremity  still." 

She  held  out  both  hands  to  him.  Tie  rcTuembered  th(>  fi^es- 
■'■urc^ — the  very  same  as  she  stood  by  tlie  window  of  Lyndith 
(Jranj^e  and  implored  him  to  aid  lier  in  her  tli^'ht,  a.^  on  that 
U^ht  he  answerer^,  more  moved  than  he  cared  to  show : 

"I  will  holj)  you,  if  I  can.     Tett  me  hov.  Lady  Charterls?" 

"Not  that  name!"  she  cried,  rising  passion  in  her  voice  and 

face.     ''Never  again  that  name!     1  loathe;  it.     i  abhor  it,  a.s 

l  do  U\e  man   that  bears  it!^    I  am  Olivia  Lisle — oh,  thank 

lod!  that  1  can  say  it!     Thank  God!  that  my  darling  lives, 

though  I  slu'uld  never  see  his  face  again!" 

She  sank  into  a  chair,  and  the  womanhood  within  her  gave 
way.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  the  room  was 
tilled  with  anguished  sobs — anguish  that  was  still  half-deliri- 
ous joy.     He  lived ! 

Lady  (.\harteris  looked  up  at  last.  As  on  that  other  night, 
under  (he  trees  of  Montalien,  she  commanded  herself  for  his 
sake,  and  held  })aek  her  passion  of  tears  by  the  effort  of  self- 
repression,  tliat  had  become  habitual  to  her.  She  held  out 
h'.'i'  hand  to  him  with  a  pathetic  gh'nce  that  went  straight  to 
liis  big,  tender,  honest  lieart. 

"Forgive  me,  Mr.  Mason,"  she  said,  -v;eetly;  "it  is  weak 
and  selfish  of  me  to  distress  you — you,  my  best,  my  most 
fitithful  friend.  T  will  not  give  way  again.  My  own  cow- 
iirdie(N  my  own  ])itiful  weakness  in  fearing  for  my  child,  in 
wishing  to  regain  her,  in  too  readily  believing  the  lies  he  told 
mo  of — of  his  death,  has  brought  all  this  long  misery  upon 
me.  I  must  hear  it  to  my  litVs  close  alone,  lint  1  must  hear 
;)1!  you  have  to  tell — all — every  word  he  s})oke,  everything  he 
did — everything  you  know.  1  am  i  think  the  mcjst  utrerly 
wretched  and  lost  creature  this  wide  earth  hold-.  There  are 
times  when  I  fancy  I  am  almost  nnul.  If  you  have  any  pity 
in  yoin-  lieart  for  so  miserable  a  wretch,  you  will  speok  lo- 
night  and  tidl  me  the  truth." 

Duke  told  her  all  that  had  -appened,  and  ended  with  the 
question : 

"Xdw,  my  lady,  may  T  a-k  how  you  have  learned  that  Rob- 
IL.wksley — no,  itobert  Lisle — is  alive'^" 

She  was  sitting,  leaning  fo;-\vard,  hev  hnnd.-:  clasped  ttghtly 
together  in  speechle-s  pain,  her  large  dark  eye.5  full  of  untold 
despair.  In  a  fev;  nuiet  words  she  repeated  the  aUiv-  Lord 
v^iMon^'^lien  had  tolcl  a;  the  dinner  that  evenincc. 


120      Lady  Charteris  Hears  the  1  ruth, 

*'I  r(Mi\oii!l'('r  listening","  «he  said,  nliiiost  dreaniil.T,  Svitli  0 
fcciirjj^  of  tig'litt'iiing  around  ni.v  }ic:irt,  knowing-  t'roin  tho 
first  that  it  was  of  my  Kohert  lie  rjx'kc.  Wlun  lio  iUt(  led  bi:^ 
muno  at  the  last,  the  tension  Keenicd  t^iiddenly  to  pive  way — ^a 
great  darknc^^  eaine  before  me,  the  room,  the  eltairs  seemed 
reeling,  and  I  fainted.  J  was  in  my  own  room  when  1  recov- 
ered, with  my  maid  mu]  the  lions(keeper  and  Sir  Vane  Char- 
teris (for  tlie  iirst  time  in  fourteen  yearf>)  beside  me.  I 
looked  at  him  and  poijited  to  the  door:  '(Jo  out  of  my  room,' 
I  said,  'and  never  (>^ne  into  it  aj?ain  as  bnig  as  you  livi'.''  The 
two  woj.'-.en  hooked  at  eaoh  other;  no  one  spoke.  lie  wi'ut  at 
on-^'e,  and  tli^n  for  hours  and  hours  it  heemed  to  nje  1  lay 
iheic  alone.  I  even  believe  I  sh^pt  for  a  time,  and  then,  all 
at  o})ee,  1  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  eold  as  death,  with  great 
drups  ^tandinw  on  my  faee,  repeating  aloud,  'Robert  is  alive! 
iJohe-.t  is  aiiv(I'  My  maid  eame  in  from  the  next  room,  with 
a  frigiitened  face,  looking  at  me  as  though  she  thought  me 
mad.  I  sprang  from  the  bed,  s(>ized  a  shawl  lying  near,  and 
ruslied  out  of  tlie  room  and  the  house.  I  ran  all  the  way 
down  to  the  gat(>s-,  they  were  oi)en  still,  by  some  ehanee,  and 
1  ri}\ne  straiglu  here.  I  never  felt  the  rain.  J  suppose  I  was 
mad — )ierha})s  I  am  yet." 

She  ])Ut  her  hand  to  her  head  in  a  lost  sort  of  way.  Dnko 
iVIason  looked  at  her  in  alarm,  her  faee  was  as  white  m  the 
faee  of  a  oorpse — her  eyes  shone;  with  a  dry,  bright  glitter — 
lier  Vdiee  was  strangely  quiet  and  slow — slie  spoke  of  herself 
as  though  speaking  of  anotlier.  The  hysterics  were  nothing 
to  tiiis.  Had  her  troubles  turned  her  brain?  Should  he 
sunnnon  Rosanna'^ 

Before  he  eould  answer  his  own  m.ealal  (|uestion,  a  carriage 
driven  furiously  stopped  at  the  door.  He  \eard  it  flung  open 
with  a  crash,  a  man's  heavy  step  sounded  in  the  hall.  The 
next  instant  the  kitchen  door  was  thrown  wide,  and  Sir  Vane 
Charteris  stood  before  them  ! 

Once  again  Duke's  thoughts  flew  back  fourteen  years  to  th<> 
S]}eckhaven  waiting-r(»om,  at  the  same  abnormal  hoin*,  and 
(leoffrey  ]iyndith  standing  dark  and  grim  as  Sir  V«no  Char- 
teris stood  now.  Once  again  with  the  same  gesture  the 
liunted  lady  lifted  her  head  and  looked  her  pursuer  full  in 
^he  face. 

The  usually  ilorid  countenance  of  the  baronet  was  fau«>d 
now  to  a  dull  livid  pallor.  There  was  a  look  about  his  mouth 
jind  Hves  not  good  to  see. 

'"Lady  Charteris,"  he  said,  grimly,  "c^me  home!"  He  ad- 
vanced tow.ird  her.  She  shrunk  baA,  both  arriis  out- 
stretched, with  a  screan.  of  fear  and  horror. 

"Don't  touch   me!"  she  cried.      "DonH  come^  near    ne! 


Lady  Charteris  Hears  the  Truth.      !2i 

Don't  call  mo  by  thai  name!  1  am  not  youi  wife — 1  never 
wa.-.  In  'he  hour  you  marrit^rl  nio  you  knew  my  lawful,  my 
(lul.v  iius;band  vvtrs  alive!  And  you  lied  to  i.'e  iiiid  told  mo  lie 
\vii>  <l('ad — you  I'alsy,  false,  false  villain!'' 

lie  listened  with  a  diabolical  smile,  his  glittering,  sinister 
py(  s  never  le«ving  her  wild  face. 

"Have  you  tjuite  done,  madanie^  This  sort  of  performance 
is  fiitertaining  enough  with  the  stage-lights  and  appropriate 
(•((^(innes,  and  at  a  suitable  hour;  but  all(»'W  me  to  suggost 
ll);it  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  Lady  (Miart(n'is  should  be 
at  home  and  in  bed.  This  is  the  scene-iiainter,  I  supposo," 
wiili  a  sneering  look  at  Duke,  "to  wjiom  y(.u  gave  that  fel- 
low's illegit " 

She  uttered  a  cry,  and  half  sprang  toward  him. 

"If  you  dare!'  she  gasped.  "You  said  it  ojice.  Take  r-are! 
tiiku  care!" 

"Ail!  I  remember,"  with  sneering  scorn.  "You  don't  like 
the  word.  I  said  it  once,  over  thirteen  years  ago.  I  lemem- 
ber  very  distinctly.  J  told  you  it  was  not  an  agreeable  recol- 
lection for  me  that  1  had  married  the  mistreas  of  a  country 
(led.  and  from  that  hour  to  this  we  have  been  man  and  wife 
only  in  name.  Is  iMr.  Kobert  Lisle's  interesting  daughter  and 
heiress  visible,  Mr. — ah — Mason?  1  suppose  not,  though,  at 
this  hour.  I  should  really  like  to  see  her;  but  that  pleasure 
must  l>e  reserved  for  another  time.     For  you,  my  lady — take 


inv  arm 


I" 


He  looked  at  her  with  a  terrible  glance.  She  shrank  away, 
trctiibling  from  head  to  foot. 

"Take  my  arm!"  he  repeated,  still  with  that  basilisk  stare, 
"iiiid  come  home.  Home!  Do  you  kjiow  the  sort  of  hotno 
])r(tvidcd  for  such  women  as  you?" 

She  did  not  speak.  Iler  eyes  looked  up  at-  him  full  of  a 
gn  nt  horror. 

"A  madhouse!" 

He  literally  hissed  the  words,  a  i\v\[\  of  hatred  and  rage 
ill  his  black  eyes.  As  he  spoke  he  drew  the  shrinking  hand 
within  his  own,  and  forced  her  toward  the  door. 

She  went  without  a  single  word.  On  the  threshold  she 
looked  bacl<  once  at  the  humble,  faithful  friend  she  was  leav- 
ing, and  who  stood  so  powerless  to  help  her  now.  It  was  her 
f;irewell. 

So  Duke  Mason  saw  her  in  his  dreams,  ior  years  and  years 
Jifter,  with  that  look  of  unutterable  horrar  on  her  death-cold 
face.  So  for  years  and  years  that  farewell  look  haunted  him 
with  muoh  the  same  remorse  as  though  he  had  atood  by  and 
seen  her  riain  before  his  eyes.  j.^  v.  ._    ,.^    :     ;     : 


r-'V 


"  m 


1 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE   DAWN   OF  THE  NEW    LIFE. 


)  On  the  stately  turrets  and  ivy-grown  towers  of  Montalicn 

Priory,  and  on  the  two-story  wooden  box  of  Mr.  Duke  Mason, 
the  light  of  a  new  and  gk)rious  day  shone. 
\    «.  The  storm  had  passed  with  the  night.    The  June  sunsliine 

flooded  sky  and  earth,  the  birds  sang  blithely,  the  busy  town 
' '  was  astir,  and  at  his  painting-room  window  Duke  Mason  sat, 

gazing  blankly  out,  and  seeing  nothing  but  darkness  and  d(\so- 
lation. 

lie  was  going  to  lose  the  Duchess.  It  was  .all  said  in  that. 
•  Polly — his  bright,  beautiful,  laughing,  mischievous,  tronhlc- 
some,  loving  little  Polly — was  going  from  him  to  return  no 
more.  For  fourteen  happy  years  she  had  been  tlie  joy,  the 
torment,  the  delight  of  his  life — now  she  was  to  be  taken 
fiom  him.  And  what  remained?  He  had  intended  to  send 
iier  away  to  school  himself,  it  was  true,  but  that  sort  of 
separation  would  have  been  different.  She  would  still  have 
been  his,  belonging  to  his  world,  and  one  day  she  would  liave 
come  back  to  lighten  their  dull,  gray-colored  life  with  her 
sunshiny  x*rcsence  again.  But  now  she  was  Lord  Moiita- 
lien'g  ward,  and  heiress  of  eighty  thousand  pounds,  and  as 
lost  to  him  almost  as  though  tlic  coffin  lid  had  closed  iii)i'ii 
her. 

The  morning  mail  brought  Duke  a  letter — a  foreign  In- 
tor — and  inclosing  a  brief  note  addressed  to  "Paulina  Lisle." 
Duke  laid  it  aside — that  name  smote  him  like  a  blow — ai'.l 
read  his  own.  No  words  could  be  more  manly,  more  grateful, 
more  kindly  than  those  of  Robert  Lisle,  but  the  decrco  of 
parting  was  irrevocable.  By  birth  and  fortune  Paulina  wa~  a 
lady.  As  such  she  had  hor  place  to  fill  in  society — in  tliat 
world  to  which  Lord  Montalien,  as  \\qv  guardian,  could 
present  her.  It  vVas  all  quite  right,  he  felt  it  plain  a«  any  one, 
,  but  the  pain  was  none  the  less  acute.     He  sat  there  for  hours, 

with  that  open  letter  in  his  hand.  Rosanna  sat  .idly  by  the 
kitchen  fire — ^and  when  had  Rosanna  boeii  idle  beforr? 
"  ■  "  Polly  had  gone  to  make  an  early  call  upon  her  friend  Alice, 
and  talk  about  her  new  clothes  and  her  new  school  prospects — 
the  ticking  of  the  old  clock  sounded  preternaturally  loud  iti 
the  blank  stillness.  And  so,  when  at  half-j^st  eleven  Lord 
Montalien  reached  the  house,  and  knocked  at  the  door,  lie 
iuund  them. 

Bosanna's  faee  betrpv^d  no  surprise  when  she  admitted  hor 


disti' 

i^'i 

lived 

h 

lishi  1 

vd 

and  ) 

)Ut 

-i 

St'( 

"that 

s 

have 

ha 

"1 

ha 

'•1 

i^ 

daui; 

ht( 

an.v 

•as 

uuhi 

un 

you. 

1 

"< 

l,r» 

The  Dawn  of  the  New  Life. 


12} 


Emitted  hor 


disti'ifeuishod  v'r^itor.  Yes,  she  answtroil,  3.1  r,  ')iiko  Mason 
lived  liero,  ana  was  disi-iiiiagcd,  and  would  .-oc  iiim.  Slio 
iislit  red  the  ju'or  into  tfio  luuid)le  parlor,  and  Didie  j^of  n|), 
ami  i)Ut  his  letter  in  his  pocket,  and  went   slowiy  (lo\vn^tan•s. 

"I  si'e  by  your  I'aee,  Air.  Mason,"  his  lon|slii[)  said,  (iU.etiy, 
"that  you  know  the  errand  upon  which  I  have  cu.ac  Vou 
have  had. a  letter  fnan  California  by  tiiis  niorninj-i's  pit^tT' 

"1  have,  my  lord." 

"It  is  doubtless  jjaini'ul  to  you  to  j)art  wlih  your  adopttKl 
daiii;htcr  after  all  these  years,  but  the  thing  is  inevitable.  In 
any  case,  you  must  have  lost  her  sooner  or  later.  Mr.  i.islc  is 
uiilxtunded  in  his  exjjressions  of  gratitude  and  respcc,  t\>r 
yi)U.     Have  you  told  hvT  yet — does  she  know  (" 

"Slio  knows  nothing,  my  lord! — ]  cannot  tell  her!"  Some 
of  poor  Duke's  pai'i  was  in  his  voice  and  face  a-  he  >poki'. 
"Slui  thinks  still,  as  she' thought  from  the  first,  that  she  is  the 
child  of  a  dead  cousin  of  my  own.  You  will  kindly  undeceive 
hi'r--you  will  tell  her  the  truth.  It  will  not  b(;  a  hard  task, 
such  pleasant  news!" 

lie  spoke  a  little  bitterly — his  heart  was  very  sore. 

Jiord  Montalien  looked  at  him  kindly. 

"I  am  quite  sure  the  young  lady  will  sincerely  regret  the 
change  of  guardians — the  new  is  plwisant,  beyond  <htnbt,  but 
she  will  not  leave  her  old  friends  without  sincere  regret.  Mr. 
.Mason,  you  know  more  of  this  young  girl's  history  than  <'ven 
I  (In,  for  you  knew  her  moth<^r!" 

Duke  started.  The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met — 'tlie  scvuo- 
painter's,  startled,  alarmed;  the  peer's,  keen,  sharj),  imelli- 
ETcnt. 

"Don't  distress  yourself,  Mr.  Mason;  T  am  not  .'^bonl  to  ask 
you  any  cpiestions.  I  had  much  rather,  indeed,  not  iiear  tlie 
mothor's  name.  It  is  a  very  painful  story — let  us  hope  tlie 
worst  is  over." 

He  spoke  with  a  certain  grave  earnestness  that  maile  Duke 
think  he  at  least  suspected  tlie  trutli.  I^e  averted  his  eyes 
tnicasily.  He  longed  to  ask  for  Lady  (Muirteris,  but  dared 
Hot. 

*'Ts  Miss  Mason — nay,  T  beg  her  pardon,"  with  a  smile, 
"Miss  Lisle  in?  I  should  lijve  to  see  her-?  T  presume  you 
liave  ho  objection  to  my  telling  her  at  once?" 

"(\'rlalnly  not,   my  lord;   she  must   know   It   fit  once,  of 

ooiu'se.     Bhe  vill  be  in  ]}resently.     May  T  ask  how  soon " 

Up  stopned,  ashamed  of  the  choking  in  his  tliroat. 

"f  shall  leave  that  entirely  to  you  and  her/'  his  lordship  an- 
swered. "You  are  awarr  it  cannot  be  postjxtned  long,  but  I 
shall  not  hurry  her  away.  She  is  to  go  to  sciiool.  I  propose 
Bending  her  to  the  Convent  of  the  Sacred  Hoaita  in  Paris.    I 


124        The  Dawn  of  the  New  Life. 


m 


}i}iv(;  a  y")reju<]i»'e   n^aiti-^t   fasliionalilc   IxordiiiK-scliools,    i.-  a| 
rule.     Had  i  a  dau^^litrr,  slu*  should  ucvi'i-  c  iilcr  one;  ahl 
l)(diov(!    lh(><('    mii.s    nt     the    Sacred    Ilcait    to    be     llic    li-tl 
teachers  and  most  ji<*('onii(li.>ii('d    hulics  uikKt  the  suu-      liiii,| 
for  a  few  weeks,  if  .she  ehoosos " 

He  <lid   i:ot    tiuisli  llie  seiitciiee.      The  lioiiso  (h)or  Ol)eIl^d.  al 
quick,  li;;ht  stej)  cio^sc d  tlie  hall,  a  I'rcsh  .vouiig  voice  Lrilhla 
merry  time,  the  parh^r  door  opened,  and   Polly  herself  st  i.m1| 
revealed  ! 

ivord   Montalieii  looked  at  lier  earnestly.     \Vh;it  did  he  mi 
A   tail,  slim   figure,  two  flushed  cheeks,  twf)  hright   hlue  i  >v 
and  a  head  "runniuj.';  over  with  curls."     She  jjaused  shor*    licrj 
V)n{j:  dying-  away  in  a  sort  of  consteritation  at  sij?ht  of    ,-  .m- 
bokcid  tor  a  visitor.     Duke  rose  up,  and  led  her  forward. 

"My  lord,"  he  said,  "this  is  your  ward;  Polly^  Lord  Mmh- 
^alien  has  come  here  to  see  you  and  tell  you  some  wondeiiul 
news.  Try  and  not  be  angry  with  me  for  keeping  it  from  ,vuu| 
so  long;  and  when  you  have  heard  all,  read  this  letter." 

He  put  her  father's  note  in  h(  r  passive  hand,  and  went  <iiit| 
of  the  room.     Polly  sank  down  in  the  chair  he  had  vacai'lj 
with  bright,  large  eyes  of  wonder.     Lord  Montalien  took  h 
hand  in  both  his,  ard  looked  at  hec  with  a  smile  that  vvciitj 
straight  to  her"  heart. 

-    "You  have  your  father's  face,  my  child,"  he  said.     "I  11I,^m1| 
him  the  moment  I  saw  him  first;  and  I  like  you." 

"My  father!"  the  gfirl  uttered.  "You  knew  my  father,  m!,v| 
lord — Duke's  cousin?"  - 

"Not  Duke's  cousin— no  tie  of  blood  or  name  binds  you  toj 
this  good  young  man  who  has  brought  you  up      Your  fallior 
is  alive!     That  letter  you  hold  is  from  him,  and  you  are  P(>l!,v| 
Mason  no  longer,  but  Pauline  Lisle!" 

She  grew  ashen  pale,  and  began  to  tremble.  What  was  tliisl 
she  was  about  to  hear?  The  hand  Lord  Montalien  held  g;vw| 
cold  in  his  grasp, 

"No  need  to  tremble — no  need  to  fear,  my  child.     My  nrwsl 
is  wonderful  news — the  best  of  news  for  you.     Your  fatlMrj 
lives,  and  has  sent  you   a  fortune.     You  are  the  heiress  ot| 
eighty  thousand  i)ounds,  and  I  am  appointenl  your  guardi  in 
Miss  Paulina  Lisle,  let  me  be  the  first  to  congratulate  yon!" 

She  fell  suddenly  back  in  her  chair.  Lord  Montaliiii 
Itarted  u})  in  alarnu 

"I  have  told  her  too  abruptly — she  is  going  to  faint!  ' 
might  have  known  it !     Whom  shall  I  call  V 

He  was  going  to  the  door,  but  she  put  out  one  hand  ainij 
motioned  him  back. 

"Wait,"  •'he  said  in  a  voice  that  trembed.      "T  shall  notl 


The  Dawn  of  the  Nevv  Life. 


12^ 


H '  i' 


oor  opcii!  ■!,  a 
v<Avv  Irilli  I  a 

luM'Solf    si   Ji(| 


lid.     "I  \\h"\\ 

J." 

ly  fatiier,  my 

binds  you  to 

Your  fallior 

vou  are  Polly 


to  faint ! 

me  hand  ;iii'i| 

"T  shall  Jioti 


;iiiit,"     She  sal  up  bravely,  as  she  spoki',  and  tried  to  smile, 

itii  lips  that  (juivered.     "I'iease  ^o  (in,  Jiiy  lord;  ted  nie  all.'' 

Aiid  then,  still  ('lasjjinj;  the  -mail,  cold  hand,  sti.'l  looking 

iiidly  in  the  jiale  VfUin^'  t'lir'c.  I.(»rd  Montalien  told  hrv  "idl." 
Slic   >.at   (juite   still,   quite   pali.    the    l<iud    tick-tack   i»f   tlio 

iiiclicii  clock  almost  painfuiiy  awdilrlc,  liic  .^nn^liine  stre^nn- 


liiiLt   nil 


had. 


H 


owed    in   aiiion^'   nosanna  s    ro<e->    and 


geraniums. 


|,\i  I,"  f  she  sjiokc,  to  ask  it  ipiestiou,  looking'  at  (lie  noldcuiau 
•>;il'    her  with  hi.ii,  soleiiMi  eyes: 


•w 


lo  wi'.s  my  nudlier 


I  do  1 


lO 


t  k 


now 


h 


le  answered  jjira\clv;  "your   father  never 


tdld  MIC  her  name.      Rest  <  ontented  with  your  wonderlnl  ^•ood 
iiiuiie,  my   dear,   and  (hai't   a-k  too    many   (juestions.     Vou 

liiic  ;i  yreat  heiress  now—  ti'y  and  think  (d"  that." 
",\  ^reat  lieii'essl"  the  girl  repeated,  juid  there  was  a  world 
f  liiit.'rness    in   her   tone;  "a  ^reat    heiress,  and  yet    p(»(trcr 

tli;iii  the  poorest,  with  a  father  and  mother  alive  whom  i  hav(! 


|i<  vcr  seen,  nev(M*  nniy  see — a  mother  wfio  east  nu^  ott  in  my 


•h 


)if 


it'iiiicy — a  father  at  the  othei*  i'wd  of  tl 


le  Wo 


rid.     Lord  Mon- 


iti;,  you  may  not  tell  me,  Duke  may  not  tell  me,  but  I   i'vvl 

\\  Ik  re  I — if  my  mother  is  alive,  I  shall  find  her  out  !" 

l.oi'dMuntalien  eanie  over  next  day  with  Mr,  (iri])per, 
vliicli  leu^al  licnth^inan  produced  (hx-uments  tied  with  red 
npc,  and  read  them  >olemidy  aloud  to  liis  bewildered  little 
•liiiit.     It  was  all  (Jreek  or  thereabouts  to   Pcdly,  exeepj^  one 

Iv  two  conditions  which  her  mind  grasped  in  passing.     Slw? 

[viK  Lord  iVlontalien's  ward  until  slie  should  come  of  iige  or 
iiiii'iy.  If  Lord  Montalien  died  before  either  of  tho>e  escnls, 
he  power  of  ai)pointing  a  new  guardian  wa^  vested  iji  him. 

I^imI  in  the  hf)ur  (;f  her  mai-riage,  whether  she  married  with 


wi 


thout    the    consent    (d'    her 


guardian,    or    during    Ik  r 


Ininnrity,  her  f.jrtnne  became  absolutelv  her  own  from  then 


ce 


Icrih. 


riiis  was  the  proviso  which  his  lordshij)  had  mentioned  on 
Iif  pi'evious  day   as  unusual.      It  was  easy  enougli,  by   tl 


lie 


lilt  of  Holjert  Lisle's  f>wn  history,  to  understand  it--  it  was 
•>  save  her  from  her  mother's  fate.  How  lifile  he  dreamed 
II  providir.ji:  that  saving  clause  for  the  haj)piness  of  the 
laughter   he  loved,   how  much   trouble,   and   shame,   and   re- 


liior' 


it  was  to  cause  Ikm*  in  the  davs  to  come!' 


Tli(    people  from  the  l-*riory  called  uixai   Lord  Aionlalien's 


nl  With  congratulations  and   con 


dial 


(  x)>ressions  oj 


good- 


Mr.  Francis,  whom  P(dly  did  not  like;  Mr.  (Jny,  whom 
le  admired  and  liked  verv  much,  and   Sir  Vane  Charteris, 


no 


repelled  her  with  hi 


s  ('(.arse  mourn  am 


th 


<1  ful 


some  eomi)!i 


li- 


nts.    The  girl  wondered   why  he  looked  at  her  with  sucli 
it^uBity,  his  small,  black  eyes  seeming  to  de^"»nr  her.    Hia 


1 11 


126        The  Dawn  o«  the  New  Life. 


SiiiK'  it  again,  Miss  Lisle,  apd  exorcise  it." 

He  led  her  to  the  piano,  and  she  obe.\ed.    Her  sweet,  cloarl 
voice  filled  the  rooms.     With  proper  training,  that  voice  alone 
might   have   made   her   fortune.     She   sang   again   "Couu*y 
Guy." 

"Ah,   County  Guy!   the  hour  is  nigh, 
The  Fun   has  left  the  lea, 
The  orange   flower  perfumes  yie   bower. 
The   oreeze  is  on   the  sea. 
^  .  The  lark,   whose   lay  has   thrilled  all   das 

Sits  hushed,  his  partner  nigh — 
r?**eeze,  bird,  and  flower  confess  the  hou** 
;v^       <^'    But  where  to  County  Q«yr' 


He  vy 

(tulinii 

think  (li 
liaiuit 

forever. 
Lvhcii   (J 

he   t';ic(' 
Ihiiii,  iis 
jSoiitht'i- 
|(i';ist    h) 

luippy  ^ 
Iterly  in 


little  daughter  cann'  with  him,  beautifully  dresxsed,  and  dwM 
more  gi'a<'ion.->  thun   (»m  that  cither  niemorahW  occasiou.     Sir 
Vane  expressed  his  regret  tin»i  Lady  Charteris  could  not  liave| 
the  luippiness  (jI  making  Miss  Lisle's  charming  acqUiiinliUKx' 
Lady   Chartej'L*    was    ill,   conlined    to   her    r<M>m--a    nervnuJ 
hy>»UM'ical    attnek,  hut    would    jjiohahly   he   able   to   travel  dii 
the  morrow,  when  he  proposed  returning  to  town  to  consult 
an  eniinenl  physieian  on  the  htale  of  her  health.     Miss  Li-le 
listened  very  c(ddly;  she  disliked  both  him  and  his  daughiir, 
and  was  relieved  when  they  went  away.     Miss  Hauttcni  al  i 
ctdled  with,  her  kinsman.  Lord  Monlalicni,  elegant  of  eostiitiie, | 
indisputably     high-bred    and     patrician,    but    looking    \\u\\\ 
elderly    and    faderl    than    ever   by    ctmtrast    with    that    fn'slJ 
bright   face.     Mr.  Allen  Fane  did  not  call — he  was  eatinn  liiJ 
very  heart  out  with  rage  and  batlled   love.     Retribution  liaill 
come  V(>ry  swiftly  to  the  tailor's  ambitious  son. 

i^ord  Montalien's  ward,  obi'ying  the  baJiests  of  her  giianl 
ian,  spent  one  evening  at  the  Priory.  Only  one — Duke  .iinil 
Kosanna  must  have  all  the  vest.  She  went  dressed  iu  white 
tarlatan  (whi^e  wius  the  proper  thing  for  a  heroine),  with  a 
blue  rihbon  in  her  amber  curls,  and  a  blue  belt  around  her 
slim  waist.  And  she  looked  lovely!  The  white  arms  and 
neck  glin)mered  through  the  flimsy  tarlatan,  and  tlier^  was  a 
flush  on  her  cheeks  and  a  light  in  her  eyes.  She  entt  ivj 
those  stately  rooms  a  guest,  an  equal — she  wlio  had  hrou 
Polly  Mason  last  week;  and  she  sat  at  Lord  Montalien's  ri^lul 
hand  at  dinner,  and  was  the  little  queen  of  the  feast. 

In  the  drawing-room,  after  dinner,  with  some  little  urgiii;; 
Polly  sang.     She  did  not  mind  singing  at  all,  but  she  oiilyl 
played  accompaniments  of  her  own;  she  did  not  undcr^laiid| 
the  piano. 

"What  does  that  matter,  Miss  Lisle,"  said  Guy  Earlscouit;! 
"who  cares  for  the  accompaniment.     I  know  you  can  sii!fi-| 
I've  heard  you."     Polly  laughed,  and  blushed  at  the  renieiii- 
brance.     "That  song  has  haunted  me  ever  since,  I  assure  .voiLH'iaiul 


The  la 

It   wa> 
wtuulcrfi 

It  wa.- 
and  runs 
like  (h'it 
like  it  h 
friends, 
the  haid' 
liimself  ; 
His  ])i\h 
Mdiitalic 
in  the  H 
I'.illy,"  1 
will  nev< 

For  01 
and,  an 

n'ou 
fill  HI  led 

Fer  P. 

Isumptuo 

(Wtly  gi 

luirt  and 

senti'd  tc 

and  Ros 

jenoiigh  i 

Warren 

meats  b 

matches 


^^'S'--'' 


The  Last  Day, 


127 


Uf  v»ad  Dosirto  lior,  boiMling  over  her,  his  dark,   (Irparuy, 
Italian  eyes  iixcnl  on  her  face.      What  (lid^(iiiy   Earlscourt 
think  of  her?     Jii  days  to  come  did  tlmt  sweet,  yoiilhfiil  I'ncc 
iHunt   hin  (h'ehms'if     In  the   glrVa   ineniory   that    night    lived 
forever,  the  first  of  her  new  existence,  and  there  wen>  honis 
Ia'Ik'ii   (tiiy   Karls<'ourt'H   dark   face   rose   up   hcfoie   her.   like 
ihe  tiice  of   a   reproachful  j^host.     She   never   forj^ot    it,   nor 
Ihini.  iis  he  stood   therci   heside   her,   the  dark    i)eiu>ty   of    hin 
ISmilliern  face,   and   his  jet-hlack    hair,  snch   a   nuu'ked   enn- 
Jtrast  to   her   own.      How   handsome   he    had    lookrvl '      How 
happy  she  liad  heenl     She  had  reason  to  rcniem.her   it — bit- 
terly in  the  years  to  come. 


II 


IniK 
lik. 
lik. 


CHAPTER  X. 

T  II  H       LAST       0  A  Y  . 

The  last  day  had  come. 

It  was  two  weeks  precisely  since  she  had  first  heard  the 
|\vuii(l(rful  news,  and  Miss  Paulina  Ti^le  was  entin  ly  ready. 
It  was  a  wonderful  fit-out  in  this  younjj;  bidy's  eyes— silks 
muslins  of  all  hues  and  the  finest  textures,  and  linen, 
drifted  snow,  trinune<l  with  real  Irish  lace.  Nothing 
like  it  had  ever  dazzled  the-  eyes  of  the  late  Miss  .Maf?on's 
j'friciids.  That  sm'en  hundred  pounds,  so  lonu'  laid  away  in 
Ithc  liaid?,  was  drawn  forth  to  furnish  this  wardrobe.  For 
iiiiii-elf  and  sister,  Mr.  Mason  positively  refused  a  fartliin^'. 
His  pale  face  flushed — his  mild  eyes  quite  Hashed  as  Lord 
^loiit.ilien,  ever  so  delicately,  made  the  offer.  "All  the  ^old 
in  tiie  J-Jank  of  Enjijland  could  not  repay  ivo  for  the  loss  of 
Polly,"  he  said.  "Unless  you  want  to  insult  me,  my  lord,  you 
will  never  allude  to  this  aKam." 

Vov  once  Duke  was  dignified.     Lord  Montalicn  wrung  his 
hand,  and  looked  at  him  admiringly. 

*'\'ou   are  a  fine  fellow,''   he  answered,  si)ii])ly,  "and  liavo 
fiiltilled  your  trust  to  Robert  Lisle  right  loyally." 

Fdr  Polly,  she  would  have  liked  to  fill  the  little  house  with 
suiii])tnous  adornings,  and  load  down  her  two  friends  Mitii 
jcostly  gifts.  I'hey  refused  everything,  iuid  it  was  only  when, 
jliurt  and  wounded,  the  girl  w'as  turning  away,  that  Duke  e-n- 
Isonted  to  replace  his  big  silver  watch  with  a  gold  patent  lever, 
land  Rosanna,  her  rusty  bro\n\  with  a  new  black  si!k,  stiff 
lenough  in  its  glistening  richness  to  stand  alone.  Miss  Al;<'e 
IWarren  got  a  locket  and  eliain,  and  niunbers  of  pretty  ormi- 
Imeiits  l^esides.  She  would  have  liked  to  have  sent  gold 
Ivatches  and  silk  dreMCB  to  every  one  in  SpecJdiaven — ^ths 


"^ 


128 


The  last  Day. 


cliarif-y  fhiWrou  iiwludf*!.     Slio  )i;hi  cvon  nindo  frifiuls  v.-iij 
li(M' old  foe,  willi  wlioiii  slu!  Iind  WJiKt'l  vrudclta  no  Ikm^'. 
had  mel,  Kiizu  i.uli^  on  tlic  stnM't,  and  that  .yoiiiiK  vvotiian 
turin'<l  away  witli  sulli-ii  cAfs  aiMl  hitfcrcst  envy,     'rhcic 


X'CIl    a    tllOllHMll  s 


strui^l^dc 


III    I'dll.v's  hrtast    -then   thai 
wciif    up    to   lier    wit! 


Slid 

ila,i 

ii,i.| 

'I  :i- 


oiMiis    luituic  <'oii(ju('n'd,   and   .sIk 
tcndrd  hand  and  ]>ic'adinjijr  <'.V('.s. 

"i  ani  Koin;4'  away-  Kliza,"  sh«  said;  "(hm't  let  us  i)ai'l  l.mi 
friends.  I  daics.iy  J  have  been  most,  in  fault  all  through.  Init 
1  am  sorry.     Do  shako  hands!'' 

Hra\(',  words  to  conu*  from  s()  proud  ;i  spiiill  They  limj 
melted  Kliza,  aial  a  reeom;iliation  took  plaee  tliere  and  iinn 
And  that.  ni^;ht,  when  the  haudsuniest  hi(»(M'h  and  earriii;^ 
moni'.y  could  Ituy  in  the  l.own  reached  i\liss  L(.nK^  she  f.'riv 
Kave  way  and  s<thhe(l  over  them,  struck  with  surpris<'  amj 
(•out  ritiwn.  Slu;  was  at  pea(;o  with  the  W'.i'ld  and  a'l  thchln 
-  liappy  I'olly — 'und  no  shadow  of  the  darkness  to  .im; 
marred  to-(hiyV  hri*.; illness. 

The  visitors  at  the  I*riory  wrTO  nearly  all  ffone.  Sir  \';iiio| 
Chiii-icns,  his  wife  and  dauKhUT,  had  left  the  day  before  \\w\ 
one  •;.•!  which  the  lanress  dined  hero.  My  lady,  closely  veiltil, 
and  loitering*  as  she  walked,  came  foi'th  leaning"  on  ihr 
maid's  arm.  Onc(*,  as  Lord  Montalien  said  farewell,  she  had 
paused,  catehinj^'  his  hand  in  both  her  own,  and  (••lin^iii;;  to 
it  a."*  though  liei'  last  hope  were  there.  But  Sir  Vane  liail 
come  forth,  and  she  had  droi)ped  it,  and  fallen  back  in  a 
corner  of  tho  traveling  carriu^'e,  with  her  black  veil  over  !ur| 
face,  and  so  tlu;  peer  saw  her  for  the  last  time  on  earth. 

Miss  Ilauttou  had  gone  t'»  Scotland  two  days  after,  to  j  mi 
the  Duchess  of  Clanronald;  ^'^r.  Fane  was  to  meet  them  in 
i^ondon,  ami  accompany  them  to  the  Italian  lakes;  I,  ml 
^Montalien,  when  his  ward  was  safely  d(!posited  in  her  (in- 
vent school,  was  to  start  for  Syria;  Francis  EarlscoMat  was 
goinii'  hack  to  Oxford  to  rejid  for  his  degree;  and  Guy  was 
to  rejoin  his  regiment  at  Knight's  Bridge.  So  the  act(jr-.  in 
this  life-drama  were  situated  this  twenty-first  of  July,  li.M!il 
for  Polly's  dejuirture.  Widely  enough  separated,  it  would] 
seem,  but  like  tlie  cards  in  the  same  pack — sure  to  come 
gether  again  in  the  univei*sal  shuffle. 

They  were  to  start  by  the  noonday  mail,  in  time  to  ealch 
the  tidal  train  that  evening  for  Folkestone.  She  had  bi(M<!i 
good-by  to  all  her  old  friends  in  the  town,  to  her  garden,  U)\ 
her  i)(>ts,  to  her  violin,  to  her  little  attic  room.  Lord  Moiita- 
lien's  carriage  awaited  her  outside  the  garden  gate.  My  lun' 
sat  within  in  horrible  dread  of  a  scene.  Ati<;e  Warren  wa- 
sobbing  beside  Rosanna — sobbing  bitterly.  "I  feel  as  thou^zi 
I  were  saying  good-by  forever,"  she  said  once.    It  was  gouu 


The  Last  Day. 


129 

by  tov  .r,  UioukIi  Aw  littlo  knew  il.  The  two  friend.  vvduM 
never  look  in  eaeli  «t!»<r's  i ;»(•«■<  more  (>i\  earth. 

IJosiinna,  lookiiij^  as  if  e;irvei|  in  <,n'ay  stone,  sto.wl  stiff  and 
ti-arles.'^  heside  the  Uiteln-n  tin-.  And  \\[i  in  llie  paint  in^'-rooni, 
I'auliiui,  in  u  ehannin;;-  travelinu'  -uii  of  ^ruy  and  h\\w,  ami 
n  litih'  Kreneii  hat,  had  hiT  arms  around  Onkc's  neck,  trying 
to  say  farewelL  The  little  wnteh  ticking;-  at  her  helt  pointed 
Ut  five  ininu'es  10  two;  ut  ten  minutesi  pa4  their  I  rain 
started. 

"Oh,  Dnkel  oh.  Di.ke!  !i';r  -  I  say  •••.•o<l-hy^  Oh, 
l)nk<'!  it  hreaks  my  luMrt  to  uo'" 

Sjie  was  sohhin;^"  wildly.  The  .scene-pain,  »r  unloosed  tho 
ciiiiMiuK  arms,  and  imt  her  Mcnily  fr(»in  him,  lookinj^'  at  her 
with  eyes  full  of  ^reat  sadiiesa. 

"Vou  must  "o,  and  at  onee,  Duchess;  good-hy  my  litt'e 
r»iie,  and'  (lod  in  heaven  hless  you!" 

lie  1(mI  her  out  jf  the  room.  On  the  thre^iiold  he  stooped 
^nd  kis<sed  her  tor  the  firs^  time  sinco  ahe  ha<l  heeii  a  little 
toddling  hahy,  erowinj?  on  his  shoulder.  Then  the  door  siniL 
upon  !ier;  the  y:\ory  of  Duke  Masoa'."^  life  was  over — he  had 
lost  the  Duchesst! 

lie  wont  hack  slowly  to  his  old  seat,  sat  down,  laid  hi*!? 
arms  on  the  table,  and  hi.s  rtn^.  upon  tlu-m,  as  thouj^h  ho 
never  cared  to  lift  it  a^ain.  And  so,  when  hundreds  of  mile.^ 
l:jy  hetween  him  and  his  little  one,  and  the  starry  summer 
twiHf^ht  shone  over  the  world,  Jiis  sister  found  hini. 

She  had  kissed  Alice,  she  had  kissed  Ro.sanna.  s<thl>in^v  vo- 
liemently,  her  tears  faiii»^:  like  rain,  and  she  had  lied  from 
them,  and  into  the  carriage  with  the  coronet  on  its  i)anels. 
The  liveried  coachnmn  started  his  lior.ses;  slie  pulled  a  little 
lihii'  veil  she  wore  over  her  fare,  and  turned  away  fr(»m  her 
f'ompanion.  They  were  flying-  throug'h  the  town.  Slie  looked 
nut  with  blinded  eyes  to  take  a  last  g'limi)se  at  the  fatniliar 
streets.  Eliza  Long-  waved  adieu  to  her  from  her  window; 
Traneis  Earlseourt,  walking:  to  the  station,  liftecl  his  hat  as 
pihe  passed.  And  then,  J. rough  all  hei*  t(^mpe>tuous  grief,  it 
dnwned  upon  the  young  lady  that  srhe  was  r<>d(lening  her  eye.s 
iUid  swelling  her  nose  in  all  jirohahility,  and  that  there  would 
be  plenty  of  time  to  cry  on  t!'  '  way  up  to  London.  Ah,  me! 
it  is  but  a  step  f r  »r!i  tlie  depths  of  desoair  to  tlu'  absurdly 
ridiculous;  the  philosophet  ..iio  laugho<l  at  life  and  its  follies 
and  its  pitiful  weakness  wn.'<  the  wi.ser  philosophe'*  A'  the 
two.  iVfiss  Lisle  wij>ed  away  Tier  rears,  and  wondere  ,  if  <^}uy 
Karlscourt  would  also  be  at  tlie  station  to  say  fannvell. 

lie  was  not  tliere.  She  felt  a  pang  of  (li.sappointmei:  -"S 
she  saw  Francis  p'oiie. 

"I  liked  hini  best,  and  be  wii^ht  have  come,"  she  tlioug4it% 


H' 


I   t 


130 


The  Last  Day. 


fi'^  my  lord  liaiidcd  hov  iiilo  tlic  coupe  "cs&rvfcii  for  them- 
selves. It  wanted  but  two  iiiinutey  of  startiiiif  time — 'lift 
wnidd  not  conic. 

"(lood-by.  Miss  J. isle;  1  wish  you  a  ideasant  journey/' 
Fraufis  had  l^nid,  shaking'  hands  and  stepping  back.  And 
then,  at  that  instant.  '»  tall,  black  horse  came  thiinderinf,^  in 
a  cloud  of  dust  down  the  road,  bearing  a  breathless  rider. 
Tli(^  black  liorse  was  Thund(M',  and  the  rider  Guy  Earlscourt, 
laie  because  he  luul  stopiJcd  to  fill  a  dainty  little  ninss-linci) 
ba:d\et  with  rarest  flowers  and  fruit.  He  leaped  off  his  hor-( , 
and  gave  the  basket  to  the  guard  for  Miss  Lisle.  The  youii^' 
lady's  heart  bounded  as  she  saw  him;  flushed,  [^flowing,  hand- 
some. 

"Kath(>r  a  close  tinish,"  he  said,  laughing,  and  holding  cnt 
his  hand.  "1  shoidd  never  have  forgiven  myself  had  1  been 
too  late,  (ilood-by.  Miss  Lisle;  don't  quite  forget  your  Spock- 
liaven  friends  in  your  Pari  =  inn  convent,  and  don't,  I  conjure 
you,  take  the  black  veil.     Vv'e  cannot  afford  to  lose  yeii." 

She  had  barely  time  to  touch  the  hand  he  reached  her 
through  the  window,  when  the  whistle  shrieked  and  the  train 
started.  She  sprang  up  for  a  h^.st  look;  it  fell  upon  him 
standing  tnore,  hat  in  hand,  the  July  sunshi«e  on  his  hand- 
some head.  And  so  the  lai?t  face  the  girl  took  out  of  her  old 
life,  with  the  smile  upon  it  that  lit  it  into  such  rare  beauty, 
was  the  d:irk.  Italian  face  of  Guy  Earlscourt, 


1- 


•         y.-    ■■■■'■    "'•  v    .•M^,     :  ■  •••'      ■:•:  ,-■  >.  ^  ■ 

• 


CHAPTER  I. 


AFTER      TWO      YEARS. 

The  {^iory  of  a  golden  September  day  lay  over  the  (>artli.  ft 
was  the  midtUe  of  the  month.  Down  at  Montalicn  Prioi-y,  I'or 
the  i)asi.  two  weeks,  the  sponsinen  had  crashed  thr(Jiijj;li  the 
H^uhble,  and  turnip  fields,  and  the  sharp  rin^  of  their  fowling 
pieces  echoed  all  day  long-  tlirouffh  the  jjjolden  richness.  Ver.y 
fair,  very  stately,  looked  the  grand,  ivied,  old  mansion,  with 
its  wealth  of  glowing  doi?  rosos  and  shinirio'  ivy,  its  waving 
oalis  and  cellars,  its  yellow  liarvest  fields,  its  bh^oming  gar- 
dens, all  gilt  with  the  glory  of  the,  cloudless  Spptend)er  sun. 

There  were  a  half-dozen  n^ien,  all  told — l^jrd  Montalien 
and  his  brother  Guy,  Allan  Fane,  the  artist,  and  husband  of 
the  rich  Diana  Hautton,  a  Mr.  Stedman,  a  Sir  Harry  (Jonjon 
and  Captain  Cecil  Villiers,  of  the  Guards.  All  good  men  and 
true,  and  not  a  single  woman  in  the  house  to  mar  their  sporty 
all  day  among  the  pai'tridges,  nor  the  perfect  dimmer  Mrs. 
Hamper  got  up  for  their  delectation  in  the  evening.  It  was 
Liberty  Hall;  lord  and  guest  did  precisely  as  they  pleased, 
and  enjoyed  themselves  admirably, 

"There  are  times  when  women  are  dftsiraWe,  nay,  inevita- 
ble." Guy  Earlscourt  said,  in  his  lazij-  voice.  "They  embellish 
iife  in  a  general  way.  At  flower  shows  and  in  ballrooms  they 
1}.ve  5imply  the  necessaries  of  life;  but  commend  me  to  a  com- 
fortable country  house  in  the  shooting  season,  and  not  a 
single  enchantress  within  three  milee." 

"A  declaration  which,  coming  from  you,  Karlscourt,  (  I"  all 
men  alive,  should  have  weight,"  observed  Capaln  Vjlliers. 
"1  always  fancied  your  idea  of  j^aradise  was  borrowed  from 
the  Koran — a  land  of  promise,  flow'ug  with  wine,  and  peo- 
pled with  black-eyed  houris.  or  blue-eyed  ballef-girU." 

"I^t  me  see,"  said  Lord  Montalien,  peeling  his  apricots — 
"r.ot  a  single  enchantress  within  three  n»iles!  Yes,  that's 
al>out  the  distance.  The  bailiff's  cottage  is  precisely  three 
miles  from  the  gates  of  Montalien." 

"And  never  houvi  of  j\rus>uluian,  nor  ballerina  of  Covetit 
Garden,  was  half  so  lovely  as  the  bailiff's  blue-eyed  daugh- 
ter," (H-ied  Sir  Harry  Gordon.     "The  luoet  bewitching,  tho 


». 


<;; 


n- 


After  Two  Years. 


mo^l  divine  little  pii^ce  oi"  calico  I  ever  laid  eyes  or.     She  h 
i  k'lte  i)ersuiii1ied.'' 

"Voii  are  all  in  the  same  boat,  then,"  remarked  Mi  Allan 
Vane.  "In  love  witli  pretty  Alice — Ouy,  as  usual,  stroke  oar, 
and  sale  to  win."' 

(luy  Earlscourt  glanced  across  the  table  at  his  brother. 

*'\Vell  now  Fane,  do  you  know  I'm  not  so  very  sure  of  that. 
I'm  the  hest-lookinj^  man  here  by  long  odds,  and  women, 
whether  they  be  peeresses  or  peasants,  do  go  down,  I  admit, 
before  me;  but  somehow  the  little  warren  seems  to  have  very 
I)oor  ta.<te,  and  to  differ  from  the  rest  of  her  appreciative  sex. 
1  don't  seem  to  make  as  profound  an  impression  as  I  would 
like.     Do  you  suppose  I  can  have  a  rival?" 

His  sleepy,  half-closed  ,©yes  were  fixed  upon  his  brother. 
L(jrd  Montalien  laughed  pleasantly. 

'"If  you  mean  me,  Ouy,  and  you  look  as  if  you  do,  I  plead 
not  guilty  to  the  soft  impeachment.  Loeing  my  head  about 
rustic  nymphs,  be  they  ever  so  charming,  is  not  in  my  line  " 

''No,"  answered  Guy,  a  little  thoughtfully,  "as  a  rulo  I 
don't  think  it  is.  High-born  beauty,  with  forty  thousand 
down  for  her  dowry,  is  your  aim,  dear  boy.  But  the  litth' 
Alice  is  exceptionally  handsome,  aftd  somehow,  I  think 
well,"  he  added,  rising  with  half  a  yawn,  "there  have  bci  ii 
worse-lot>king  Lady  Montaliens." 

There  was  little  in  the  wordc-,  but  his  brother's  face  flusln d. 
The  women  of  the  house  of  Montalien  had  been  noterl  fur 
generations  for  their  beauty — the  mother  of  the  present  lord 
being  the  sole  exception.  The  first  wife  of  Nugent,  late 
r^aron  Montalien,  had  been  hard  of  feature  and  sour  of  tcin- 
I)er,  as  her  picture  still  could  show  you;  and  on  thi«  point, 
Francis,  twelfth  Baron  "Montalien,  was  especially  sensitive. 

For  Francis  Earlscourt  was  Lord  Montalien  now,  the  late 
lord  having  fewelve  months  l^efore  passed  to  a  better,  and 
(with  all  due  respect  for  the  British  nobility),  let  us  hope, 
even  a  higher  sphere,  where  boredom  is  unknown.  And  his; 
elder  son  reigned  in  his  stead — that  elder  son  whom,  like  his 
nutther,  ho  had  never  loved. 

The  men  dispersed  in  the  South  Coppice,  and  soon  through 
the  sultry  noontide  the  sharp  ringing  of  the  guns  cleft  the 
hot,  still  air.  Lord  Montalien  alone  was  missing  as  the  after- 
noon sun  sank  low  in  the  summer  sky,  and  a  faint,  sweet 
f'veiiing  breeze  arose  and  stirred  the  leaves. 

"Frank  bags  other  game  than  partridges,"  Guy  said,  with 
a  shrug.  "He's  deuced  close  about  it;  but  I  know  he's  after 
that  little  tfirl  like  a  ferret  after  a  rabbit,  or  a  terrier  after 
a  rat." 


After  Two  Years. 


1  I 


13? 


His  fowlm^-  piece  r;ui;v  out,  ami  two  birds  came  tuinblinj^ 
down. 

"You   fliitik,    tlif'ii "   StediiKii;  Ix'^aii. 

"ii;ili;"  iiitfnuj)(0(]  (iuy.  "1  kiiou".  And  you  know,  my 
^■,  ud  IV'llow,  so  don't  try  it  on  with  me.  I-'rank's  just  tiu'  ^ort 
ol"  man  not  to  lose  his  head  after  wonieu,  and  to  ^o  sirai^;iit 
to  the  dickens  when  he  does.  It's  no  alTairs  of  yours  or 
ii'.iiie,  however;  we.  iieitlier  of  us  are  {jreparcd  to  -^i-t  up  as 
ecusors,  and  ]\Tistrers  Alice  mu>t  look'"out   for  hei'-clf." 

li(>  plunj;ed  into  the  eop[)ice  and  disappc^ircd.  Stodman 
looked  after  him  with  a  jjeeuliar  smile. 

'•[f  Miss  Warren  is  capabla  of  lookinjj:  out  for  liersolf  1*1  is 
iiior(>  than  you  are.  You  can  see  my  lord's  little  ^ame  there, 
clearly  enough,  hut  you  are  blind  as  a  mole  wIkm'c  you  are 
(Mucerned  yourself.  lie  hates  you  as  a  j)heasant  does  a  red 
(lo.i^.     Why,  I  wonder?" 

He  was  a  pale  youn.a:  man,  this  Auji'ustus  Stedman,  with  a 
lii<;h,  thoughtful  brow,  a  retreating  chin,  a  thin  mouth,  and 
shifting:,  hazel  eyes.  Jle  was  Lord  Mont  alien's  (special 
friend.  There  was  an  affinity  in  the  tlec^p,  subtle  natures  of 
the  two  men,  both — the  truth  may  as  well  come  out  — 'thor- 
ouft'hly  cold-blooded  and  unprincii)led  at  heart,  and  out- 
wardly models  of  all  domestic  and  social  virtm^s.  No  one 
could  lay  any  charge  wdiatever  at  the  door  of  either,  and  yec 
there  were  men  who  mistrusted  them,  women  who  shrank 
away  from  them  only  to  see  them  smile  once. 

PVancis,  Lord  Montalien,  walked  slowly  uj)  to  the  house, 
and  entered  the  library  by  an  oj)en  French  window.  A  noble 
room;  its  four  walls  lined  with  books,  statues,  and  bronzes, 
everywhere  writing-tables  and  easy-chairs  strewn  around, 
pleasant  recesses  for  reading,  and  the  mellow,  aftern(»on  sun- 
shine flooding  all. 

There  were  three  i)ietures  in  this  library — three  pit-tures 
hanging  together  over  the  tall,  carved  mantel.  They  were 
three  portraits — the  late  Lord  Mo.'talieii,  hi^j,  second  wife, 
and  younger  son.  Venetia,  Lady  ^fontalien,  a  portionless 
Italian  girl,  with  a  face  of  perfect  beauty,  such  as  one  does 
not  see  twice  in  a  lifetime,  and  barely  eighteen  when  lu^r  son 
was  born.  That  son's  portrait  hang  by  hers — the  same  dark, 
brilliant  face,  the  same  lustrous  eyes  of  SoutluMTi  darkness, 
the  same  proudly-held  head,  the  sann*  ex'pH'"itt',  smiling 
nioulh. 

The  mother  had  lain  in  her  grave  for  ma:iy  a  yvnv;  and  the 
son's  bright  beauty  was  s(>niewhat  marred  und  lii.ggard  jiow. 
Those  pictures  were  the  first  objects  Lord  MontaTum  lfx>ke<l 
upon,  as  he  sh-ode  through  the  windo>,v.  nv;d  a  glance  of  bit- 
tor,  vindictive  hatred  flamed  up  in  ids  liuht.  cold  eyof*     ^e 


i-*i 


t 


i ' 


,'WI 


lilj, 


134 


After  Two  Years> 


8UH)d  an  instant  regardinp^  ti'"jr  with  set  teeth,  and  an  ex- 
pression bad  to  see.  lie  spoke  to  iliem  as  though  they  bad 
been  s(?rjsate  things. 

"Ay,"  he  said,  **you  have  had  your  day — it  is  my  tin\e  now! 
There  you  haiij^' — tlic  father  who  could  barely  coiieeal  liis  dis- 
like--the  woman  who  sui>planted  my  dead  mothm* — the  boy 
who  would  have  supphuitod  nie  had  it  been  in  his  father's 
power.  You  left  your  younprer  and  favorite  son,  your  Henja- 
ttiiu,  every  penny  you'l'ould  leave  away  from  the  entail;  now 
is  the  time  for  me  to  show  my  gratitude.  In  your  lifetime 
he  was  always  first — his  beauty,  his  brilliant  gifts,  drew  all  to 
his  side,  while  I  was  passed  over.  'Whati  a  pity  Guy  is  not 
the  heir!'  niy  father's  friends  used  to  say.  'Poor  Frank  is  so 
dull — so  like  his  mother!'  You  thought  so  too,  my  lord — 
poor  Frank  went  to  the  wall- in  your  reign.  When  the  heir 
of  Montalien  came  of  age,  who  knew  or  cared  'i  When  Guy 
jame  of  age,  bells  rang,  boTifires  blazed,  and  the  tenantry 
were  feasted.  Kven  those  boors  smd  'What  a  pity  Master 
Guy  isn't  the  heir.'  Ah !  well,  we'll  change  all  that ;  I  am 
Ijord  Montalien  now,  and  Guy  Karlscourt  is  where  1  have  hd 
him,  on  the  high  road  to  ruin — nay,  a  ruined  man  and  a  pau- 
r)er  to-day.  'temper  Fidi'Us'  is  the  motto  of  our  house;  and 
'Always  Faithful'  to  my  reveniio,  he  shall  pay  me  back  for 
every  sneer,  every  slight,  every  advantage  over  me,  to  the  ut- 
termost farthing." 

]t  was  the  secret  of  his' life.  Francis  Earlscourt  hated  his 
brother. 

lie  turned  away  from  the  three  pictures  at  last — the  smil- 
ing fae^s  of  Guy  and  the  dead  Lady  Venetia  seeming  to 
mock  hini  ^rom  the  canvas. 

"The  day  is  near  when  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  putting 
you  all  three  in  the  fire,"  he  thought.  "The  day  is  nejir, 
my  Lord  Montalien,  when  your  beloved  one  shall  drag  out 
the  remainder  of  his  brilliant  existence  within  the  walls  of 
the  Fleet  Prison,  or  become  an  exile  for  life  from  his  native 
land." 

IFe  ])ac('d  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  while  the  sun 
dropped  lower  and  lower,  and  not  all  the  glory  of  the  heavens 
could  brighteirthe  dark  moodiness  of  his  irate  face. 

"(^irsc  her  obstinacy,"  he  muttered,  sullenly.  "With  her 
fair,  drooping  head,  Iut  fawnlike  eyes,  her  timid  blushes, 
and  flattering,  replies,  s.he  has  the  devil's  own  will!  She 
won't  yield- -three  times  a  day  to  church  every  Sunday,  as 
long  -is  she  c;in  reivcnnber,  and  the  Sunday  school  be*^,Vv.n 
whiles,  have  done  their  work.  I  could  as  easily  remove  the 
'  Baron's  Tower  yonder  as  that  frail  milk-and-rose  cottage 


After  Two  Years. 


09 


^rL     What,  the  deiico  shill   I  do? — for,   have  her,  I  must, 
thoug-h  I  i)ai(l  the  dire  penally  of — a  weddinj.?  rinpf!" 

ITe  paced  to  and  fro,  revolving:  this  riuostion.  "What  shall 
\J  do'^"     lie  had  a  deep,  suiaie  brain,  like  Ills  smile,  pi»vvt'ri"ul 
to  work  good  or  evil  for  liini.^elf  or  otliera. 

"In  the  days  now  past,"  he  mused,  "a  post-chaise-nnd-four 
round  the  corner,  two  muffled  bravoes,  and  a  nii(hiifUH  altduc- 
tioM  wouhl  be  the  thing"!  Or  one  niipht  go  seek  that  (!on- 
venient  college  friend,  ever  ready  to  pei'soiiare  the  clrrgynian, 
and  a  mock  marriage  would  st>tti(>  the  fair  one's  seruplfs.  lint 
that  sort  of  thing  exploded  with  rutHes  and  ra))iers,  1  suppose. 
And  yet — and  yet,  I  don't  know.  What  has  been  don(>  can 
surely  be  done  ag.  in.  Why  not  the  convenient  college  friend, 
and  tlie  mock  marriage?  She  is  as  innocent  as  lu;r  ovvn  liiild 
daisies,  my  dear  little  Terdant  Alice,  and  slu;  loves  nie  witii 
her  whole  good  little  heart,  and  would  consent  to  a  marriage, 
however  private,  so  that  it  were  a  marriage.  Without  the 
[uu'son,  and  the  wedding  ring,  she  won't  listen  to  a  Wijrd — 
I  hanks  to  popular  rustic  prejudice,  and  the  tenets  of  the 
Sunday  school.     A  mock  marriage — why  not — why  not?" 

The  schenVe  was  practicable,  but  v/hcre  was  the  convenient 
college  friend  to  be  found.  But  one,  Stodman — his  face  sud- 
denly lighted  as  he  thought  of  Stednian. 

''The  heart  of  a  cucumber  fried  in  snow,"  lie  tliought, 
grimly.  "xA  man  with  neither  honor,  conscience,  princif^?, 
nor  feeling — a  man  poor  as  a  elmrch  mouse — a  man  capable 
of  poisoning  his  own  mother  if  he  corld  benefit  himself  b,v 
the  old  lady's  demise,  and  not  be  found  oivt.  Yes,"  he  said, 
unconsciously  loud,  "Stedman  will  do  it." 

"WTll  he,  my  friend?"  said  a  cool  voice,  and  a  tall  figure 
darkened  the  sunlight,  as  Mr.  Augustus  Stedman  stepped 
through  the  open  window.  "I  thought  it  was  only  on  the 
stage  and  in  madhouses  people  tall«^  to  themselves.  And 
what  is  our  Stedman  to  do,  my  lord?" 

lie  flung  himself  into  an  easy-chair  and  proceeded  to  light 
u  cigar.     Lord  Montalien  looked  at  him  suspiciously. 

"What  brings  you  here?"  he  asked,  "llow  long  were  you 
watching  me?" 

"Do  I  intrude  upon  your  jirofound  cogitations?    If  so '* 

ho  made  a  motion  of  rising  and  leaving. 

"Xo,  no!"  Lord  Montalien  said,  hastih,  'Don't  go;  the 
fact  is,  Stedman,  I  want  you.  Oan  you  guess;,  Slednian, 
what  the  business  is?" 

"Something  'about  our  blue-eyed  Hebe  the  blushing  di- 
vinity, whose  earthly  name  is  Alice  Warren.' 

"Exactly,  Gus — I'm  hopelessly  done  for  in  tliat  «|uarter% 
The  tprl  loves  me  with  all  her  heart,  but  she  i»  tearfully  and 


■1 


m 


n6 


Hiter  Two  Years. 


wonderfully  obdurate  on  tlio  point  of  rnarriap:c.  Sh  I':  quiU 
ready  to  resigii  nK\  and  break  her  li<2art  in  tlic  niOH,  ap- 
proved fashion,  and  go  off  genteelly  in  a  decline,  but " 

"She  insists  on  the  nuptial  knot,''  interrupted  Mr.  Ste<l- 
jnan,  "which,  of  course,  is  simply  preposterous;  and  so  there's 
nothwig  for  it  but  to  break  both  your  hearts,  and  part.  A 
case  of  Lord  Lovel  and  Lady  Naji — cee  over  again.  Or  is 
there  something  else  on  the  cards?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lord  Montalien.  2\ik\  then,  still  pacing  up  and 
down^  he  laid  bare  his  dark  scheme. 

Augustus  Stedman  iistened,  smoking,  with  an  immovable 
face. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  slowly,  at  last,  "I  see.  The  thing  can  be 
done,  I  suppose,  but  it  seems  rather  risky.  And  my  part, 
dear  boy?  Am  I  to  play  the  parson,  and  tie  the  knot?  Un- 
fortunately, la  ix't'itc  knows  my  interesting  physiognomy 
almost  as  well  as  she  does  your  own." 

"Of  course  not ;  but  you  may  know  some  one  who  will  piny 
l>arson.  You  have  a  very  extetisive  and  not  too  select  circli.' 
of  acquaintances  in  J^ondoij.  Think,  and  see  if  there  is  mA. 
ouQ  among  them  who  will  do  th(^  business;  and  believe  me,  I 
shall  not  speedily  forget  your  si-rvice." 

There  shot  from  the  eyes  of  Stedman,  as  Lord  Montalien 
spoke  the  last  words,  a  gleam  not  good  to  see;  over  his  thin 
lips  there  dawned  a  faint,  chill  smile,  that  never  came  there 
save  for  evil. 

The  acquaintantt'  of  those  two  congenial  spirits  had  come 
about  rather  curiously.  Years  before,  a  certain  dashing 
young  London  actress  had  fettered  Augustus  Stedman  in  her 
rose  chains,  A  thoroughly  vicious  woman,  with  nothing  but 
her  bold,  handsome  face  to  recommend  lier — coarse,  heartless, 
and  avaricious,  lie  had  wooed  her  long,  and  success  seemed 
near,  when  the  Honorable  Francis  Earhicourt  appeared  upon 
the  scene,  with  the  longer  purse  of  the  two.  It  is  an  episode 
neither  pleasant  nor  profitable  to  relate.  Stedman  retired 
baffled,  but  he  took  his  defeat  wonderfully  well.  From  that 
hour  he  became  the  chosen  friend  and  associate  of  Francis 
Earlscourt,  forgiving  him  handsomely  for  his  somewhat 
treacherous  conduct  in  the  little  matter,  and,  with  the  pa- 
tience of  an  Indian  chief,  biding  his  time  to  wipe  out  the 
score. 

Five  years  had  passed,  and  the  time  had  come! 

The  gleam  in  his  gray  eyes,  the  pale  smile  on  his  cynical 
mouth-  were  unseen  by  his  companion.  lie  had  turned  his 
face  away,  and  was  looking  at  the  amber  light  in  the  eolt 
weetern  sk^Y'^'At  tb^  «^reen  beauty  of  the  sloping  gkdes.    l^ist 


After  Two  Years, 


<)7 


live  niiiiutes  siilence  rolKHOil ;  tlicii  liis  lordship's  paticiiw 
gave  way. 

"Well!"  he  said  witli  an  oatli;  "speak  out,  ean'l  .V(.u? 
Dce.s  your  silence  mean  you  declined' 

"Silenee  means  consent.  Don't  l.c  impatient,  my  Lord 
Montaliin;  a  man  can't  review  some  six  or  seven  hundred  ac- 
quaintances all  in  a  second.  I'll  help  you  in  this  matt(M';  and 
1  know  tlie  verv  man  vou  want." 

"Vou  doT' 

"1  do.  A  younj?  fellow,  destined  for  tlie  church,  on  the 
point  of  re(feivinjj:  orders  nio?'(r  than  onee,.  hut  the  uuitter  has 
been  alway^^  i)osf{)on«^d.  lie  is  the  slave  of  the  brandy  bot- 
tle, and  leaily  to  do  anything'  short  of  murder — a  highway 
robbery  for  a  tive-pound  note,  it  is  my  belief  he  will  never 
be  ordained;  but  he  will  marry  you.  He  lives  with  his  uncle, 
the  incumbent  of  the  (Miurch  of  St.  Kthelfrida,  in  the  city» 
and  nothing  will  l)e  easier  tliaii  for  him  to  admit  you,  and 
I)erform  the  mock  (teremony  in  the  church  after  nightfall." 

"In  the  church  r' 

"In  the  church.  The  uncle  is  <lown  in  Essex,  as  I  happen 
to  know,  for  a  fortnight's  holiday;  the  nephew  can  obtain  the 
keys  when  he  pleases,     llow  soon  do  you  want  it  (hnief' 

"Imnu'diately — day   after    to-morrow,    if   possible." 

"Ah!"  Stedman  said,  with  a  covert  sneer;  "the  proverbial 
impatience  of  lovers!  I  renuMuber  onee  before,  five  years  ago, 
you  were  almost  equally  far  gone." 

"Slcdman!  1  thought  you  had  forgotten  that.  Remend>er, 
1  was  only  a  lad  of  one-and-twenty  then." 

"Olvl  enough  to  be  my  successful  rival,"  laughed  Stedman. 
"Day  after  to-morrow  will  be  rather  sharp  work,  but,  if  the 
lady  be  willing,  1  don't  say  that  it  is  iimpossible." 

"The  lady  will  be  willing.  I  shall  see  her  this  very  even- 
ing, and  arrange  all.     How  do  you  propose  to  managed" 

"Thus:  1  shall  go  up  to  town  by  the  first  train  to-morrow, 
call  on  tlie  man  w^e  want,  bribe  him,  procure  a  special  license 
(to  satisfy  he'self),  and  have  the  job  done  next  day.  Miss 
Warren  might  go  up  by  to-morrow's  evening  train,  and  re- 
main quietly  at  some  decent  lodging,  until  the  weddinsjr  hour. 
Your  own  movements  you  must  settle  yourself." 

Lord  Montalien  seized  his  hat,  and  g-rasped  Mr.  Stedniaii'a 
banU  with  a  cordiality  very  unwonted  with  him. 

"You  are  the  prince  of  good  fellows,  Gus!  Believe  Ine,  1 
shall  not  forget  this." 

lie  wrung  his  hand,  dropped  it,  hurried  through  the  open 
window,  and  disi^^peared. 

Mr.  Stednum  looked  after  his  retreating?  figure,  and  th© 
wuinou.'^  Muuile    the  latent  gleam,  were  verj^-  apparent  now. 


'      ! 


138 


After  Two  Years. 


"No,  iny  Lord  of  Moiitalioii.  T  d'-n't  mean  you  shall  forgot 
tins.  1  tliink  lu'lorc  tlu;  \v(;ck  I'lids  1  sliali  vvipe  out  tlftit  old 
griulji^o  about  podr  Fanny  Da.slion." 

\mv([  MonUilicn  strtxh;  tlnou^h  llu;  dowy  meadows  and  the 
siioi'l.  hvvw't  grass,  fu'l  of  triumph  and  exultation.  For 
Francis  Karls<'ourt,  from  earliest  boyhoo<l,  to  set  his  heart 
upon  anything  was  to  strain  heaven  and  earth  to  eonipasg 
his  ends.  Years  might  come  and  go,  but  he  remained  faith- 
ful to  his  purpose.  "Always  faithful,"  the  motto  of  the 
Karlscourld,  was  never  more  strikingly  exemplified  than  in 
him.     J^y  fair  means  or  by  foul,  he  must  win  Alice  Warren! 

He  found  her  where  ho  kn.  w  she  was  always  to  be  found 
at  this  calm  evening  hour — milking.  Flower,  and  Daisy,  and 
Anxdii  stood  around  lier,  the  sweet  scejit  of  new-made  hay 
filled  the  air,  the  vesper  songs  of  the  birds  rang  down  the 
pi(=;toral  stillness,  the  last  golden  glinmier  of  sunset  was  fad- 
ing in  the  clear  gray  sky.  All  things  looked  fair  and  sweet; 
and  fairest,  sweetest  of  all,  the  girl  who  rose  with  a  blush  a«nd 
a  smile  te  greet  her  lover. 

"Come  with  me,  Alice,"  he  said.  "I  have  something  to  say 
to  you — something  you  must  hear  at  once." 

She  went  with  him  across  the  long  fields  to  the  gloom  and 
solitude  of  the  distant  fir  plantation.  Even  in  the  heat  of 
his  wooing  and  sucv*ess,  he  could  remember  prudene^  Be- 
neath ihe  sombre  shadow  of  the  trees  he  passed  his  arm 
around  her  waist,  and  whispered  his  proposal.  Would  she  bo 
his  wife — secretly,  of  course,  but  his  wife? 

The  girl  lifted  two  large,  searching  eyes  to  his  face,  and 
clasped  both  hands  round  his  ajm. 

"Frank!"  she  cried, '"your  wife — your  very  wife.  I,  the 
bailiff's  daughter — you,  Lord  Montalien !  Do  I  hear  you 
aright?    Do  you  mean  it?" 

"More  than  I  ever  meant  anything.  "Why  nQt,  my  Alice — 
you  are  fair  enoush  and  good  enough  to  be  a  queen,  and  who 
is  there  to  say  me  nay.  Only  for  the  present  it  musA  be  pri- 
vate— strictly  private,  remember.  -Not  a  whisper  of  your  se- 
cret to  a  living  soul." 

And  then,  in  soft,  caressing  tones,  he  told  her  what  she  was 
to  do.  To  steal  (}uietly  from  home,  and  take  the  eight-fifty 
train  for  London,  to  go  to  a  quiet  hotel,  whose  address  he 
would  send  h^r,  and  wait  there  for  him  until  the  following 
day.  'And  an  hour  after  his  arrival  they  would  drive  to- 
gether to  some  obscure  church,  nnd  be  niarried.  Would  she 
consent  i 

Consent!  She  cla.sjji'ti  iier  hands  closer  aroun-d  his  arm, 
her  fair  face  rosy  with  joy.  ^ 

"Frank  I  to  be  your  wife,  I  wcxuld  riak,  wc>uid  'k»  smfthiog, 


Th^  u.oad  to  Ru'i., 


J?9 


Only  soiiic  aay  kooii,  s(»()ii  fiftcr  our  niHrrinMt'.  you  wii  ^i  me 
write,  and  tell  futli'-r  and  mother.  1  can't  \)Oht  that 
tlK'y- " 

''Of  ('((urse  not.  After  o\ir  ninrruiM'e  you  shull  tell  tliem 
everything.  Don't  fail:  and,  hy  the  way,  if  you  should  n)»et 
my  brotlier  at  llie  .station,  you  ean  travel  under  liis  protcc- 
tion  Not  a  sylhdde  to  hinj,  of  course,  for  tlie  i)re.sent,  at 
least.  Jf  you  love  luc  us  you  say,  Aliei-,  you  will  he  couts  nt 
to  wait  a  little  before  1  present  you  to  the  w<irld  as  i-ady 
Montaiien." 

If  she  loved  him!  the  innocent  eyes  h^okin^'-  up  to  him  were 
full  of  deathless  devotion.  They  smot(>  him  -licartloss,  self- 
ish as  he  waS' — they  smote  hit  the  l(>viiip,  faithful  eyes  of 
the  girl  he  was  betraying. 

A  great  bell  clanged  out  over  the  woods,  the  dressing  bell 
at  the  Priory.  He  stooped  hastily  and  kis-ed  her.  "(iood-by, 
my  Alice — for  the  last  time.  On  the  day  after  to-morrow  wc 
will  meet  in  London  to  part  no  more." 

Alice  retired  as  usual  to  her  room,  but  not  to  .sleep.  At 
midnight  she  lighted  her  candle  and  sat  down  to  write  a 
hasty  note  to  Polly." 

The  few  words  she  had  to  say  were  soon  written: 

"My  Own  Dahi,f.N(j:  — I  mu.st  speult  one  word  to  you  ticfor"  I 
go— Vicforc  I  go  away  from  my  home,  my  (l<'ar,  dnai'  hiune, 
to  be  married.  Yes.  Paulina;  Alice  Is  to  l)o  married  to  one 
Bhc  loves — oh,  so  dearly— so  dearly—the  best,  the  noblest  of 
men  on  earth.  Some  day  you  will  know  hi«  n  nne.  and  wliat 
a  happy,  happy  girl  I  am.  Until  then,  love  nie,  and  trust 
always  your  own.  ALiei::" 

She  addressed  this  brief  note  to  Paris,  to  "Mile.  I'auliria 
IJsle."  She  kissed  the  name,  she  tof*k  the  locket  from  her 
neck,  and  kissed  the  pictured  face.  "Darling  little  Polly," 
siie  said,  "to  think  that  when  next  we  meet,  Alice  will  be  a 
lady,  too." 

And  th.nn  at  last  she  said  her  jjrayers,  and  wyiit  to  bed. 
But  the  bright,  broad  day  was  shining  gloriously  in  before 
the  happy  eyes  were  sealed  by  sleep.  The  new  day — the 
beg'Inning  of  a  new  life. 


51 


ClIAPTEK  II. 

TilK    HOAn    TO    lU  IN'. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  Mr,  \u<:cu3tus  fttedman 
'took  a  run  ap  to  tinvi.''  And  late  \n  lu(  -v  '.;i*ig,  Mr.  Guy 
Karlscourt  was  driven  down  from  the  i*riory  to  ('.itcb.  tlie  Jast 
expr'.\33r    The  ST^ay  of  the  summer  evening   •    •    ''•?^  deepen- 


.P.t 


140 


The  Road  to  Ruin. 


inir  to  darknoss  as  Mr.  (!ny  Kmi-'ht  <nrt  .umipofl  out,  and  ran 
to  tho  oflico  for  his  tick' t.  In  two  inmutcs  (Ik^  train  wonld 
stnrt.  ^  One  of  ihcsc  ininutcs  ho  Mp<'nt  at  tlio  tickcl  otiico.  tho 
othor  in  lInhtiM;;'  a  cif^ar  and  I'tokiiij:-  al)ont  him,  llalt'-a 
dozen  loiinj^crs  wtTo  scattorcd  abonl  the  jjlatfonn,  nn('  sav*} 
hinisc'lt',  tlicTf!  was  hut  anotlicr  ))ass(>ngor--\vlio  \vor(^  a  t'h)s(», 
bhick  voih  and  who  carried  a  snndl  haj^  in  licr  liajid. 

Somcthiiifi:  in  tliis  lonely  t'enialo  fif.nire,  standing  there  in 
th(^  ^loaniinyf,  something  faniiliar,  nnide  th(»  young  (Juards- 
man  l(n)k  again.  She  saw  the  glance,  and  came  gliding  up  lo 
him,  and  laid  one  timid  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"i\lr.  (^uy."    ,- 


"AH 


1C( 


fv 


She  had  not  lifti-d  tlie  close  nuisk  of  bhiek  lace,  hut  he 
recognized  the  voice,  the  whole  form,  the  instant  slir  si)oke. 

"Yes,  Mr,  Guy — I  am  gtnng  to  London,  and — and  1  am 
frightencnl  to  go  alone.  Might  I — would  you " 

"Now  then,  sir,""  cried  the  guard,  holding  open  tho  door  of 
the  fii>t-(dass  compartment.    "Look  sharp,  if  you  please." 

"This  way,  Alice,"  exclaimed  (luy,  and  the  three  words, 
spoken  in  half  a  whisper,  reached  the  ears  of  the  guard,  to  he 
graven  on  his  professional  memory,  and  destined  to  be  re- 
peated, years  after,  with  such  deadly  peril  to  the  unconscious 
speaker. 

There  was  no  time  for  parley,  no  time  for  questions  or  re- 
monstrance. He  assisted  her  in,  sprang  after,  the  whistle 
shrieked,  and  the  express  train  flew  away  through  the  dark- 
ening night. 

"Now,  then,  Miss  Alice  Warren,  explain  yourself?  What 
does  a  young  lady  from  Speckhaven  mean  by  running  {.way 
to  London  at  this  unholy  hour,  and  alone?  I  give  you  my 
word  I  should  as  soon  have  expected  to  behold  the  Czarina  of 
all  the  Russias  at  the  station  as  you." 

The  veil  was  still  down — its  friendly  shelter  hid  the  burn- 
ing, painful  blush  that  overspread  the  girl's  face,  but  he 
could  see  she  shrank  and  trembled. 

"I  am  obliged  to  you,  ^fr.  Guy." 

"You  are,  eh?  T  ho])c  for  everybody's  sake,  liiy  old  friend 
Mathew  knows  all  about  it.  And,  if  ho  does,  my  ohl  friend 
Mathew  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself — letting  his  pretty 
daughter  run  wild  uji  to  London.  Where  is  Peter  eTeidvins, 
too — the  sturdy  miller — that  he  doesn't  lor^k  better  after  his 
little  affiapced  V 

"T  am  not  his  affiaiu  .(.',"  Alice  replied,  betwer^n  a  laugh  and 
a  ^b;  "I  never  was.  And  my  father  ami  mother  don't  know 
I've  come — plcise  don't  blame  tliem,  Mr.  Guy." 


The  Road  to  Ruin. 


141 


'\s  in  a  ^lasfl,  darkly,"  ho  naw  the  truth,  and  for  once  id 
hi:,  life  t't'lt  actually  called  upon  to  rcinon.strate. 

"Alice,"  ho  said,  "I  don't  want  to  pry  into  ;.ny  st'crcf  of 
yours-  you  know  your  own  atTairs  best,  ol"  cour.-.i  ;  luit  is  this 
a  wise  step  you  arc  taking^  'Plunk,  hcfoic  it  is  too  latt',  and 
turn  back  while  there  is  yet  time." 

"'{'hero  is  no  time.  It  is  too  late.  Aji  1  T  would  not  turn 
back  if  1  could." 

Slie  sp(»ke  more  firmly  than  he  had  ever  heanl  her.  Sh»^ 
was  thlnkiniA'  that  this  time. to-morrow  she  would  be  l''rank's 
w  i  t'e. 

"You  know  hest.  Pardon  my  interference.  At  least.  y»Mi 
will  i)ermit  me  to  see  you  to  your  destination." 

She  took  from  her  purse  a  slip  of  i)a])er  and  handed  it  to 
him. 

"I  am  yoinjr  there.  If  you  will  take  me  to  it  I  will  bo 
very,  very  thankful." 

"Mrs.  Howe's  ].o(l<;ings,  20  (Jilbert's  (Jardcns,  Tottenliam 
CoiV't  Road,"  read  (luy.  "Ah,  I  don't  know.  Mrs.  Howe's 
Ix)dK'iugs,  (Jilbert's  (Janlens,  sounds  rural,  though.  Ves, 
Miss  Warren,  I  shall  certainly  see  you  there;  and  now,  with 
your  permission,  will  read  the  evening  j)aper." 

And  then  silence  fell  between  them. 

It  was  elose  upon  midnight  when  the  countless  lamps  of 
London  first  shone  before  the  country  girl's  ilazed  eyes.  Tiu; 
bustle  and  upritar  of  the  station  terrified  her;  she  chnig  in 
atfright  to  Mr.  Earlscourt's  arm.  And  then  tlu'y  wci-c  in  a 
four-wheeled  cab,  whirling  rapidly  away  to  (Jilbert's  (Jar- 
diMia. 

"It's  rather  an  unearthly  hour,"  remarked  Ciuy,  looking  at 
his  watch.  "I  only  hope  Mrs.  Home — no,  \'.s.  Ilow(^ — is  pre- 
pared t{>  receive  us." 

Mrs.  Howe  was.  Mr.  Stedman  had  arranger^  that  as  well 
as  other  matters;  and  Miss  Warren  was  affably  received  by  ^ 
tliin,  little  woman,  with  a  ]>inched  noso  and  a  wintry  smile, 
and  shown  to  the  ladies'  sitting  room  at  once. 

She  gave  her  hand  to  h(  r  companion  with  a  glance  of  Itar- 
fnl  gratitude. 

"Thank  you  very  much,  "Nfr.  Guy.  I  don't  kiiow  Ik.w  T 
should  have  got  here  but  for  you.  CJood-night,  and,  oh, 
l)lease"— piteously — "don't  say  anything  to  anybody  down 
jjonie  about  having  met  me." 

"Certainly  not,  Alice — good-night." 

He  had  reached  the  door  when  a  sudden  intpulse  struck 
him,  and  he  turned  back.  He  took  both  her  Iwnids  in  his  own 
and  looked  kindly,  pityingly,  down  m  the  sweety  tear  wftt 
face.  ■  ,  .    . 


142 


The  Road  to  Ruin. 


"Little  Alice,"  he  Hai<l,  "I'm  a  prood-for-not-liinff  follow,  hut 
1  have  ii  very  teiider  rcKanI  for  you.  It  over  yon  find  your- 
fttdf  up  a  tn'c--!  monn  in  trouble  of  any  kind — I  wi^li  youM 
Comic  to  nic.  I'll  iiclp  you  if  I  ran.  Here  is  an  addrc^-.  to 
wlncli  you  fan  write*  at  any  time,  and  if  ever  you  call  ujuju 
nu'    I   will  never   fail  you." 

'V\u'  d.krk.  hand<«oni«  face,  tho  brown,  oarnoat  ovo?;  swam 
hetoi'e  the  ^nrl  in  a  hot  inist.  If  he  bad  l)e(»n  her  brotber  be 
cudd  hardly  have  felt  more  tenderly  toward  her  than  ,it  tbat 
nioutenl.  'I'rouble!  He  krjew,  if  »ho  did  not,  what  dark  and 
bitu-r  h()nl)!(»  was  in  store  for  her,  and  lio  was  helpless  to 
Wiird  it  oH". 

"I've  bad  the  fortune  to  come  across  a  good  many  ifiseruta- 
hh'  (tard^;  in  my  time,"  ho  thought,  as  he  ran  downstairs,  "but 
for  in-crulability,  Monti  puts  the  topper  on  the  lot.  What 
an  iiifeiiiiil  scoundrel  he  is;  and  what  an  inconceivable  idiot 
th'it  poor  child!  Of  course,  he's  p)inM'  to 'marry  her  -notb- 
inj4:  else  would  have  induced  a  girl  like  that  to  take  such  a 
step."  -  . 

Mrs.  TIowo  led  the  way  upstairs,  with  a  simper  on  her 
faded   face. 

"I  know  all  about  it,  miss,"  she  whispered,  confidentially; 
"the  youn^  man  as  was  here  this  morning — a  most  genteel 
young  man  he  is — 'told  me  that  you  was  going  to  be  married, 
you  know,  mis.s,  and  that  is  the  gentleman,  of  course,  a  mili- 
tary gentleman,  as  one  may  see,  and  the  very  'andsomest  as  I 
ever  set  eyes  on." 

Alice  shrunk  away,  almost  with  dread.  How  dare  Mr. 
Steduinn  tell  this  strange  woman  her  secret?  She  entered 
her  room,  a  neat 'little  apartment  enough,  but  insufferably 
close  and  stuffy,  as  it  seemed  to  the  country  girl,  used  to  the 
fresh  breath  of  the  German  Ocean,  and  the  sweet  breeze  of 
tho  Lincolnshire  wold. 

Afrs.  TTowe  set  down  the  candle,  still  simpering,  still  cour- 
tesy ing. 

"And  if  there's  anything  else,  miss — hot  water,  or  a  cup  of 
tea,  or  a  plate  of  cut  'am,  or  anything  as  you  might  men- 
tion— I'm  sure  I'd  me  most  happy.  Which  the  genteel  young 
goTit  this  morning  paid  up  in  advance,  most  generous " 

"No,  thank  you;  I  want  nothing,"  Alice  answered,  hur- 
riedly; and  the  simpering  landlady,  with -a  last  dip,  walked 
away. 

She  closed  and  locked  the  door,  and  sank  down  on  her 
knees  by  the  bedside,  her  hat  and  shawl  still  on,  wit^  an  over- 
lowering  sense  of  desolation  and  loneliness.  Wh«t  were  they 
doing  at  home?  What  did  they  think  of  ber?  They  would 
miss  her  at  the  hour  for  6veiuii£f  p^ayeIi•^  and  thfi^  woold 


it 


hut 


cour- 


The  Road  to  Ruin. 


14? 


!h 


.!i 


p:^Hrrl>  for  her  iu  vain.  ^-'Ijo  cdiild  sor  lirr  TnothorV-*  wurM 
white  \'i\(v,  licr  fiilhor's  stern,  jiiip-y.  Oli,  what  a  bad,  criii; 
jrirl  >}h'  wh«,  otiI.v  tjiinkiptr  (tf  }HM's<'lf  ntid  lur  <•  vri  h!!pi)iii(ss, 
and  iicvcr  caring  for  llic/^ricf  slio  wan  h'livm^  iK-liiiul!  Very 
soon  tlicy  would  know  (he  trntli,  (iliHt  she  wan  the  happy  wifo 
of  I,ord  Montulicn,  hut  until  then,  whiif  Krief,  whiit  shamo, 
•vhat  fear,  woidd  slie  not  tnaUe  them  sutler! 

A  (d«)ek  in  the  nei^dihorhood  ntrnck  three.  Site  luid 
Fcnreely  slept  tlie  tii^-lit  hoforc^— -invohnitnrily  her  eyes  w<'ro 
oiosin^f  now.  She  ^ot  up  in  a  kind  of  stupor,  removed  her 
Duler  clothing-,  threw  herself  half-clressed  ujjon  the  bed  and 
8le[it  (h'i'ply,  drf>iimlessly,  uutil  niorniii';-. 

Tt  was  hroafl  day  when  she  awol;o  and  startwl  up — nine 
o'clock  of  a  dull,  rainy  mornhig'.  The  crashing?  noises  with- 
out half  stunned  her  fy  ti  moment,  until  she  realized  sho 
was  in  T.ondoiK 

In  the  cdurse  of  tlie  foretioon  ^Ir.  Stedmnn  called;  >he  was 
triad  to  see  even  him  then,  though  down  nt  home  she  had  dis- 
liked him.  Fverythirifj:  was  in  readiness,  Mr.  Steadman  told 
her;  she  might  look  for  Lord  Montalien  a  little  before  six 
o'clock. 

Seven  hours  to  wait — would  they  ever  i)ass,  Alice  thought. 
8he  asked  the  Intidlady  for  a  book,  ai^L  tried  to  fix  her  at- 
tention upon  it,  but  in  vain.  For  once  a  novel  faihd  to  ab- 
sorb Miss  Warreri.  She  listened  t/)  the  hours,  and  the  quar- 
ters, as  they  chimed  two,  three,  four,  five. 

In  Gilbert's  Gardens  the  dark,  rainy  day  was  closinj?  al- 
ready, and  yellow  lamps  glimmered  atliwart  the  fopr.  TTalf- 
past  five — a  quarter  of  six — oh,  would  he  never  come!  She 
had  worked  herself  up  into  a  fever  of  longing  and  impatience, 
when  a  hnnsom  whirled  uj)  to  the  door,  a  man  very  much 
muffled  leaped  out,  and  rushed  up  the  stairs,  and,  with  a  cry 
of  joy,  Alice  flung  herself  into  the  arms  of  her  lover: 

"Oh,  Frank!  Frank!  T  tlufught  you  would  never  coinel 
The  day  has  been  so  long — so  long!" 

lie  was  so  closely  muffled  tliat  the  eyes  of  love  alone  could 
have  recognized  him.-  Tie  looked  flushed  and  eager  as  a 
prospective  bridegroom  should. 

"Dress  yourself  as  (piickly  as  possi})le,  Alice,"  he  said,  hur- 
riedly; "we  will  drive  to  the  cliurch  at  once." 

Tn  five  minutes  the  girl's  straw  hat  and  simple  shawl  were 
on.  Slie  drew  her  veil  over  her  face,  and  with  a  beating 
heart  was  led  by  her  lover  to  the  cab.  A  second  more  and 
they  W'cre  whirliug  away,  and  the  curious  eyes  of  the  land- 
lady were  removed  from  the  window. 

"I  could  r^t  see  his  face,"  she  remarked  afterward;  "he 
was  thtti  muffled  up,  and  his  hat  was  that  pulled  over  his 


t  i  ff 

^11 


144 


The  Road  to  Ruin. 


heyes,  but  I  know  it  was  the  same  millingtnry  :;:j\1  ?x 
brought  her  the  night  afore." 

T'he  Church  of  St.  Ktholfrida  was  a  very  h>ng  way  n  ■  nivcd 
from  (Jilberl's  (iardon,  an<l  it  was  entirely  dark  by  I  lie  time 
they  reached  it.  A  small  and  dingy  edihce,  in  a  sn:ali  and 
dingy  court,  with  not  a  soul  to  observe  them,  ani^  only  a 
Bolitary  cab  waiting  round  the  corner,  from  which  Mr.  Sted- 
man  sprang  to  meet  them.  An  T)ld  woman  in  pattens  ojumunI 
the  church  door — an  old  woman, .who,  with  Mr.  Stedman,  was 
to  constitute  the  witness  of  the  ctrcmony.  A  solitary  lainp 
li't  the  dark  edifice,  and  l>y  its  light  they  saw  a  young  man  in 
a  surplice,  standing  behind  the  rails,  with  a  book  in  his 
hand.  Lord  ^Montalien  led  liie  palpitating  little  tigure  on 
his  arm  U])  the  aisle,  and  in  less  than  ten  minutes  the  young 
man  in  the  surplice  had  gabbled  through  the  ceremony,  and 
pronounced  Francis  Eiirlsconrt  an(f  Alice  Warren  man  and 
wife.  Then  cnmo  signin^r  and  countersigning  in  a  big  book 
— a  fee  was  slipped  from  the  palm  of  the  bridegroon'  into 
that  of  the  young  man  in  the  surplice.  Alice  received  her 
"marriage  lines"  and  all  was  over.  At  the  church  door  the 
bridegroom  stopped  to  shake  hands  with  Ir-;  faithful  friend 
and  accomplice. 

"You're  a  trump,  Stedman!  Believe  me,  I  shall  not  forget 
what  you  have  done* for  me  to-night." 

Mr.  Stedman,  with  his  hands  in  his  pocket,  and  that  pale, 
ominous  smile  on  his  lips,  watched  bride  and  bridegroom  re- 
enter their  cab  and  drive  away;  then  he  laughed  to  himself — 
a  soft,  low  laugh. 

"No!  most  noble  lord;  I  don't  think  you  will  forget  in  a 
hurry  what  I  have  done  for  you  to-night.  I  was  to  bo  the 
cat's-paw,  was  I — the  hanger-on  who  was  to  do  -your  dirty 
work,  and  take  my  reward  in  being  told  I  am  a  trump?  In 
six  weeks  from  now,  if  I  am  bar  I  up,  I  shall  know  where  to 
call,  and  trust  to  your  gratitude  for  a  check  for  a  couple  of 
thousand;  and  I  think  that  other  little  score,  five  years  old, 
is  pretty  clearly  wiped  out  at  last." 


When  Guy  Earlscourt  told  Alice  Warren  that  he  was  "a 
good-for-nothing  soi-t  of  fellow,"  he  uttered  a  fact  in  which 
he  would  have  found  a  great  n^any  iwople  a^r»c.  As  fast  as 
man  could  tread  that  broad,  sunlit,  flower-grown  highway, 
known  as  the  "Iload  to  Ruin,"  Lieutenant  Guy  Earlscourt 
hail  been  treading  it  for  the  past  three  years. 

Ever  since  when  at  twenty  years  of  age  he  had  begun  his 
Hew,  bri^'Mt  lite  as  fledgling  guardsman  and  emancipated 
£touiftu,  lie  had  been  goin^  the  pace  with  a  reckleseiLeeSy  a 


The  Road  to  Ruin. 


M? 


nuKl  extra vapraiK'o,  tliat  know  npitbor  bounds  nor  pause.  Ho 
wa>  but  four  months  pa<l  thivc^-and-twonty  now,  ajid  over 
lu'.i'l  and  ears  in  debt,  and   i'Totricvably   rninc^d." 

rlu.-^l  o]ie  .year  and  a  half  afz:o  his  father  liad  died,  away  in 
Syiiii,  of  tyi)hoid  fever.  Amid  strangers,  in  i)  slran^c  huid, 
Nimcnt,  Baron  Moutalien'.s  boi^'  exih'  of  sixty  ycuirs  had  ab- 
nipily  endech  He  drifted  out  ol'  life  as  (juietly,  as  thor- 
onulily  self-possessed  and  gentlemanly  as  he  had  drifted 
tlirnugh  it.  Ill  hi»»  last  hour  there  were  no  vain  regrets,  (ir 
Idiinin^s  for  home  and  friends.  Once  he  had  thonjrbt  he 
would  like  to  sec  Guy;  it  was  but  a  passinu:  weakness;  he  did 
iiM»  wish  a  seeond  time  for  what  was  impossible.  It  v  a.i 
rather  a  relief,  on  the  whole,  to  go — to  make  an  end  of  the 
{j:(ii('ral  weariness  and  delusion  of  livinp;. 

ll(^  had  but  one  trouble — the  thoupiht  of  tlie  ^-irl  whom 
Ivilicrt  Ilawksley  had  left  in  his  ehar-^e.  W4om  should  he 
aiii'oint  f^uardian  in  his  own  stead?  He  thought  over  all  the 
UKii  he  knew,  and  there  was  not  one  amonff  them  suitable, 
or.  if  suitable,  willing  to  undertake  the  troublesome  duty.  He 
Ii  id  almost  given  up  tiie  problem  in  despair,  when  Sir  Vane 
Cliarteris  suddenly  appeared  upon  the  scene.  It  was  no  pre- 
iiii'litated  meeting;  it  was  the  merest  ehanee — if  there  be 
such  a  thing  as  chance — if  the  destiny  that  was  i^lkiping  the 
cuds  of  Paulina  Lisle  had  not  driven  him  hither.  He  was 
the  one  man  whom  his  lordship  had  not  thought  of.  A  vague 
f|i>like  and  distrust  of  him  had  been  in  his  mind  ever  since 
the  day  upon  which  Lady  Charteris  had  made  her  passionate 
declaration  that  he  had  insulted  her,  and  that  she  would  n(>ver 
forj^ive  him. 

Poor  Lady  Charteris!  it  mattered  little  whom  she  forgave 
iinw;  she  was  the  inmate  of  a  madhouse!  She  liad  never 
recovered  from  that -sudden  illness  down  at  Montalien;  and 
three  weeks  from  the  time  when  her  husband  had  taken  her 
up  to  town  her  mind  had  entirely  given  way,  and  she  had 
been*  ever  since  the  inmate  of  a  private  asylum.  Her  dehi 
sin!i  was  a  singular  one.  Sir  Vane  Tharteris  was  not  her 
husband,  she  persisted;  her  lawful  husliand  was  alive,  and  in 
America,  to  whom  she  was  always  trying  to  write.  And  liav- 
iiiii,'  placed  his  insane  wife  in  safe  keeping,  and  his  daughter 
at  a  fashionable  boarding-school.  Sir  Vane  Charteris  nlso  set 
ont,  to  drown  the  great  trouble  of  his  life,  sight-seeing  iu 
distant  lands. 

At  the  close  of  a  bright  summer  day,  h*'  entcM'ed  the  little 
Byrian  village  where  my  hn'd  lay  dying.  It  >*eenied  a  Provi- 
Ai'}\{%  Lo  the  sick  man.  Almost  tlu^  fii*st  v/ords  he  spoke  were 
the  question — would  he  assume  in  his  stead  Lh«  guard iiinship 
of  Paulina  Lisle  ^ 


1 1 


146 


The  Road  to  Ruin. 


There  rose  np  over  the  swarthy  face  of  the  haronv .  a  flbsh 
that  was  not  the  rosy  light  of  the  Kastern  sunset.  I  Jo  liad 
never  thou^t  of  this!  Among  all  the  chances  thyt  were  to 
place  his  wife's  elder  daughter  in  his  power  he  hid  '\  i 
thought  of  this!  It  was  a  moment  before  he  could  ainvvr '  - 
a  moment  during  which  his  face  was  turned  far  away  ivon 
the  dying  man,  and  his  black  eyes  gazed  at  the  rainbow  ]i^;pt 
in  the  Syrian  sky.     Then  he  spoke  very  quietly: 

"If  it  will  relieve  your  mind  any,  my  lord,  I  willingly  ;,"- 
cept  the  charge.  With  my  unfortunate  domestic  afflictior  I 
had  not  thought  of  ever  again  making  England  my  home, 
but  my  duty  to  my  daughter,  perhaps,  should  be  paramount 
over  every  mere  personal  grief.  I  will  become  Miss  Lisle  a 
guardian,  and  fulfill  my  duty  to  the  best  of  my  ability.  tSUe 
and  Maud  will  be  companions,  and  my  sister  Eleanor — Mr.^ 
Galbraith,  you  recollect! — wiU  preside  over  my  home." 

The  necessary  documents  were  immediately  drawn  up; 
and  that  night,  when  the  great  white  moon  rose  up  out  ..f 
the  Orient,  Nugent,  Lord  Montalien,  lay  white  and  cold  iu 
death. 

Sir  Vane  Charteris  lingered  in  the  Syrian  village  loi.;^' 
enough  to  perform  his  last  duties  to  his  friend.  The  body 
was  embalmed  and  transported  to  England;  and  perhiips 
among  all  who  stood  bareheaded  around,  while  the  gve-it 
vault  down  at  Montalien  opened  to  receive  anothrr  iuiiuit., 
Guy  Earlscourt  was  the  only  mourner  at  heart.  It  h;ul  not  I"  "m 
the  way  of  father  or  son  to  speak  of  it,  or  even  iiiucli  to  tlijik 
of  it,  but  in  their  secret  hearts  they  had  losfd  each  o{1k  i- 
wonderfully  well.  For  Francis,  the  new  Lord  A'trntalieii,  l.e 
looked,  as  he  always  did,  the  model  of  all  till  il  viri;rf>  ai'd 
quiet  grief;  but  the  dark  spirit  within  him  exulted.  His  ^/ns 
the  power  now  and  the  glory — he,  not  the  dead  man's  fnv  :- 
ite,  reigned  in  Montalien. 

He  listened  with  the  same  expression  of  subdvied  sorr.  w 
when  the  will  was  read,  and  knew  that  Ids  falhf  i-  hu]  Vi.l 
left  him  one  memento  of  fatherly  regard.  All  hu]  ^rv.i-  to 
Guy — a  trifle,  perhaps,  but  all.  Ho  grasj)ed  his  1  vjthct's 
hand  when  they  were  alone  together,  and  looked-at  hii-i  w.ih 
glistening  eyes. 

"Guy,  old  fellow,"  he  said,  "thirteen  thousand  is  not  rr.  ■  'i 
to  you  with  your  habits  and  tastes,  but  when  you  are  np  :i 
tree  call  upon  me  without  fear.  The  income  of  Montalir!)  is 
a  noble  one,  and  I  shall  share  it  as  a  brother  shouldo  Stmt 
yo'irself  in  no  way — your  debts  shall  be  paid." 

Guy  lifted  his  dark  eyebrows,  and  pulled  his  mustache  in 
dense  b©widerme»t. 

"Has  ^rank  go»e  mad,  I  wonder?"  he  thougi^t;  "he  paj 


The  Road  to  Ruta. 


>47 


my  debts!  iVhy,  the  selfish  beprerar  would  no*;  ,^.re  a  sou  to 
keep  me  fram  etarvii;g!  What  t!»'.'  (U'ucc  docs  he  nioiiii  by 
gushing  in  this  way?"  But  aloud  h^  had  ansvprt-od:  "Tliaiikn, 
very  muoli;  you're  not  half  a  bad  fellow,  Frank!"  and  had 
straightway  proceeded  to  squander  his  kjj:a<'y,  w)ii."h  he  m.iri- 
atfed  very  completely  to  do  in  a  year. 

Sir  Vane  Charteris  made  an  end  of  his  Eastern  tour,  au<l 
returning  home  by  Paris,  proceeded  to  call  upon  his  warJ. 
He  had  informed  JVIiss  Lisle  by  letter  of  the  change,  and  'he 
y«ung  lady  had  shed  some  very  sineere  tears  over-  the  n^-n's, 
a  few  for  Lord  Montalien,  whom  she  had  liked,  and  a  f<".v 
for  herself,  that  she  should  be  the  ward  of  Sir  Vane  (Jliar- 
teris,  whom  she  disliked  with  a  heartiness  which  charaetei"- 
izi;d  all  this  young  person's  likes  and  dislikes.  The  barnr>et 
C:i1!e(l  upon  her  one  July  daj' — the  July  preceding  the  S' p- 
tr/riher  of  vv'hieh  I  have  written — and  there  descended  )u  the 
C'invoTit  parlor,  a  tall,  slim  young  lady,  in  a  gray  dres^.  \v:t!j 
«  n.ile  face,  and  large,  bright  eyes.  She  gave  her  hand  rather 
(•'idly  to  her  guardian,  and  listened  while  he  unfolded  his 
|i'  i:.i  for  her. 

<lie  v/as  eighteen  now,  and  the  time  for  leaving  school  had 
c  tme.  Early  in  October  his  town  bouse  would  be  in  order, 
,Mi(l  his  sister  and  daughter  ready  to  receive  and  welcome 
K^.  ]t  was  his  wish  she  should  enter  society  at  once;  her 
•rrtice,  the  Duchess  of  ^Clanronald,  had  offered  to  present  her 
at  Court.  Pending  the  ides  of  October,  would  Paulina  mind 
remaining  quietly  where  she  was? 

"Yes,''  Miss  Lisle  answered,  "decidedly,  she  woidd  mind 
it/'  She  had  no  notion  of  spending  the  midsummer  vacation 
in  the  convent.  She  had  promised  her  friend,  Mile.  Vir- 
j-^inia  Dupont,  to  spend  August  and  September  in  the  frater- 
nnl  mansion,  at  Versailles.  ,  And  she  was  quite  willing  to 
rrrike  her  dehui  in  society  immediately — delighted,  indeed. 
If  Sir  Vane  Charteris  should  choose  to  come  for  her  about 
the  middle  of  October  she  would  be  ready  to  go  to  England. 

The  interview  ended,  and  the  baronet  had  got  what  he  de- 
sired, an-  inkling  into  the  character  of  the  heiress.  She  had 
a  will  of  her  own — that  was  clear — and  a  very  strong  fancy 
for  having  her  own  way.  It  would  require  all  the  tact  he 
possessed,  and  all  the  strqjigth  of  mind  to  come  off  victor  in 
a  battle  with  her. 

"She  shall  marry  in  her  first  season,"  he  thought ;  "and  a 
man  of  my  choosing.  Robert  Lisle  will  never  dare  return  to 
England;  and  Olivia's  life  will  soon  end  in  her  madhouse. 
At  her  death  her  fortune  becomes  Maud's,  for  who  is  there 
to  say  she  everTiad  an  elder  daughter?" 

So  ivthik  Miia  Lisle  was  enjoying  herself  very  viuch  in  her 


■1 


148 


The  Road  to  Rum. 


frloiid's  noiiie,  thcro  wero  st'veral  p€0])lc  acrr  „  ■<-hc  Channel 
\o  vvhoTii  she  was  an  object  of  gnat  iiittT^st.  Sir  Vane 
Chartiris,  busil.y  preparing  hi;<  town  lu»iJse,  in  the  aristocr;uic 
uoifiljl'orhoud  of  J)(  'kehw  S(piarc\  ffji'  her  reception — jj.rd 
]\Iontalicn,  who  ^col  made  up  his  mind,  entirely  to  his  rwn 
Batisfaetion,  to  marry  her,  and  thn  spendthrift  and  prodiual 
(iiiy,  who  was  strongly  recommended  to  do  the  same.  J  lis 
advit-er  was  an  old  maiden  aunt  of  his  father's,  from  wli<.ni 
bo  had  expectations,  who  liad  already  paid  his  debts  halt-a- 
dozen  times,  and  the  thought  of  whose  prospective  legiuy 
alone  kept  the  Jews  from  swooping  down  upon  him. 

"You  are  the  most  reckless,  the  most  wickedly  e"^travagai)t 
man  in  the  Guards,"  this  ancient  grandaunt  said  to  hini  in 
a  passion;  "and  I  will  pay  your  debts  no  more,  sir;  do  VdU 
understand?  Gambling  and  drinking  and  horse  racing  are 
bad  enough,  Heaven  knows,  but  let  there  come  a  whisper  cf 
anything  worse  to  my  ears,  and  I  disinherit  you,  and  give 
everything  to  Frank;  do  you  understand?" 

"There  is  no  mistaking  your  meaning,  my  dear  aunt,"' 
Guy  ansAvered,  with  imperturable  good  temper.  "I  dare  tay 
you  w^ill,  eventually;  I'm  an  unlucky  beggar  generally,  juid 
it  will  only  be  of  a  piece  with  the  rest,  if  you  do  disinherit 
me.  It's  a  pity,  for  Frank's  sake,  I  don't  go  to  the  bad  al- 
together." 

"You  have  gone  there,  sir!"  cried  old  Miss  Earlscomt. 
"You're  a  disgrace  to  your  name  and  family,  sir.  AVliy 
don't  you  get  married? — answer  me  that — and  change  y(air 
life,  and  leave  the  army,  and  become  a  decent  member  of 
society  ?" 

Guy  looked  at  hev  with  a  face  of  unfeigned  horror. 

"Get  married!  Heaven  forbid!  My  dear  aunt,  I  don't 
like  to  doubt  your  sanity,  but  to  propose  marriage  to  a  ni.iii 
of  my  age — three-and-twenty,  odd !  No,  it  is  not  so  despr  r- 
ate  as  that,  while  there  is  prussic  acid  enough  left  in  lhe 
chemist's  to  enable  me  to  glide  out  of  life." 

Miss  Earlscourt  struck  her  stiQk  vehemently  on  the  grou'id, 
looking  very  much  like  a  venerable  witch. 

"Lieutenant  Earlscourt,  I  say  you  shall  marry,  and  at 
once!  There  is  this  girl,  who  wa^  your  father's  ward;  she  i^ 
rich — she  is  handsome.     I  say  you  shall  marry  her!" 

"Shall  I?"  murmured  Guy,  helplessly. 

"She  is  coming  home  next  month,  I  asked  Frank,  and  lie 
told  me,  and  you  shall  make  her  fail  in  love  with  you,  a  ml 
marry  you.  You  are  handsome — one  of  the  very  handsoni'st 
young  men  I  ever  saw — and  a  favorite  with?  all  the  wouk  a. 
I  dan't  go  into  society,  but  I  hear — I  tell  you,  sir,  you  shall 
marry  this  PaulixiA  Lisl^  or  I  will  diaiuherit  you!    !Now 


Paulina. 


149 


go  ''  and  the  witch's  stick  pointed  io  ttio,  door;  "don't  let  nie 
^'c  your  wicked,  spondtiiri It  face  n^ain  until  you.  comG  to 
announce  this  heiress  as  your  afHanccl  wife!" 


CIIAPTKR  IIL 


PAULINA. 


Away  along  the  dreariest  part  of  tho  Essex  coajt  there 
s^ood,  and  stands  still,  a  lonely  oM  manor  liouse,  closed  in 
from  the  outer  world  by  funereal  trees,  juid  called  "Tht^ 
Firs."  It  was  the  country  house  of  Sir  Van*^*  Charteris,  an  1 
had  never  been  visited  by  him  in  the  i)ast  twenty  years.  A 
frloomy  and  grewsome  place,  five  miles  from  the  nearest 
country  neighbor,  a  squalid  fishing  village  lying  below,  the 
long  waves  forever  breaking  upon  the  shingly  shore,  and  the 
gaunt,  dark  firs  skirting  it,  smothering  it  all  around. 

The  "Moated  Grange"  could  hardly  have  been  a  more  lone- 
sonic  and  eerie  dwelling,  nor  could  "Mariana"  have  bewailed 
her  hard  lot  in  being'shut  up  there  much  more  bitterly  than 
did  the  mistress  of  "The  Firs,"  the  Widow  (lalbraith. 

Mrs.  Eleanor  Galbraith  was  the  oidy  sister  of  Sir  Vane 
Charteris,  and  had  spent  the  last  nineteen  years  of  her 
widowhood  doing  penance  at  "The  Firs."  When  oue-and- 
twenty  she  had  thrown  herself  away  uj)on  a  subaltern  in  rlio 
Si.xtieth  Highlanders,  which  penniless  young  officer,  dying 
within  two  years,  left  his  widow  to  the  cold  charity  of  her 
only  brother. 

Sir  Vane  had  bitterly  opposed  the  imprudent  malch;  now 
he  comforted  Mrs.  Galbraith  in  her  \v(^e<ls  and  widowhood 
by  that  cynical  aphorism — as  she  had  m;  ,Ie  her  bed  so  she 
must  lie.  He  was  shortly  about  to  contract  a  matrimonial  al- 
liance with  the  wealthy  and  beautiful  Miss  Olivia  Lyndith; 
and  a  sister  in  weeds  was  an  addition  he  did  not  at  ail  de- 
sire in  his  nuptial  establishment.  There  was  "Tlie  Firs"  if 
■^he  liked.  "The  Firs"  stood  in  need  (-f  a  mi -tress  to  keep  it 
from  falling  to  decay.  He  never.  n>eant  to  go  near  it  him- 
sef — its  dismalness  always  gave  him  the  horrors.  If  Mrs. 
Galbraith  chose  to  go  and  reside  at  "The  Firs,"  she  was  en- 
tirely welcome,  if  not 

Mrs.  Galbraith  did  choose,  wrathfully,  and  had  become 
sonaPy  extinct  from  that  hour.  Nineteen  years  had  passe;!, 
and  gray  hairs  had  stolen  into  her  raven  locks,  and  crow's- 
feet  impressed  themselves  under  hei*  eyc^s.  She  was  forty- 
o'le  years  of  age,  and  was  a  hamlsonie  likeness  of  her 
brother     ."^^ck  at  her  as  she  sits  at  her  solitary  midday  meal. 


l^M 


150 


P^^ulina. 


./■ 


with  the  hot  Repteinber  sinisJiino  filling  the  long,  dark,  oUl. 
fashioned  dining-room.  A  line  woman,  most  assuredly,  in 
spite  of  the  crow's-feet — a  stout,  handsome,  middle-iiged  Indy, 
with  a  clear  brain  nnd  a  firm  will. 

The  rattling  of  wheels  on  the  drive  without  reaches  h(r 
ears — a  must  unusual  sound.  As  she  springs  up  and  goes  to 
the  window,  she  sees,  to  her  ungovernable  surprise,  Ik  r 
brother.  Sir  Vane  Charteris.  An  instant  more,  and  the  (M 
man  who  did  duty  as  butler,  gardener,  and  coachman,  usli- 
ered  in  the  lord  of  the  manor. 

"Vane!" 

Mrs.  Galbraith  could  just  utter  the  one  word. 

The  baronet  advanced  with  more  cordiality  than  he  had 
ever  displayed  toward  her,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"My  dear  Eleanor,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again."  lie 
drew  her  to  him,  and  kissed  her  wholesome  brown  cheek. 
"Yes,  very  glad,  "after  so  many  years;  and  looking  so  nicely, 
too.     What!  luncheon  already?" 

He  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  and  glanced  at  the  substan- 
tially spread  table. 

"Dinner,  Sir  Vane  Charlieris!  I  dine  at  the  hour  at  which 
people  of  your  world  breakfast.  One  nearl.f  forgets  the 
usages  of  civilized  life  after  niuv^teen  years'  solitude  at  'Tlie 
Firs.' " 

"I  hope  not,  Eleanor,"  answered  Sir  Vane,  coolly,  "as  I  de- 
sire you  at  once  to  return  to  my  world,  as  you  call  it.  I  have 
come  down  to  remove  you  from  'The  Firs'  to  my  town- 
house.'' 

.  Mrs.  Galbrajith  gave  a  gasp.  At  last! — what  she  had  pined 
for,  prayed  for,  sigTied  for,  during  nineteen  years  had  come! 

'■'You  have  heard  of  my  unfortunate  domestic  calamity^' 
pursued  the  baronet;  "I  allude  to  my  unhappy  wife's  in- 
sanity. I  had  half  resolved  to  sell  the  lease  of  the  Merednn 
street  house;  but  circunastances  have  occurred  lately  that 
have  caused  me  to  change  my  mind.  I  have  been  appointed 
guardian  to  a  young  lady,  an  heiress,  whom  I  wish  to  pre- 
sent to  society. 

"Indeed !"  said  Mrs.  Galbraith,  with  her  black  eyes  fixed  on 
her  brother's  face.  "I  saw  a  brief  paragraph  in  the  Mornitifj 
Post  concerning  it.  A  Miss  Paulina  7>isle,  formerly  the  ward 
of  the  late  Lord  Montalien — is  it  not  ?" 

"The  same;  and  a  very  handsome  and  charming  youiifr 
Indy,  I  assure  you,  with  eighty  thousand  pounds  as  her  for- 
tune She  will  be  presented  next  season  by  tlie  Duchess  <f 
Chinronald,'and  make  her  dehut,  with  yourself  for  e:iaixr<ihi', 
Meantime,  she  comes  from  France  in  a  month,  and  will  ?ro 
out  a  great  deal,  no  doubt,  in  a  quiet  way,  this  autumn  and 


Pftulina. 


151 


ark,  old- 
redly,  in 
ged  Indy, 

icVies  lirr 
d  goes  to 
irise,  li<  r 
d  the  old 
nan,  u^li- 


lU  he  liad 

ain."     lie 

wn   chetk. 

so  niocdy, 

e  substan- 

r  at  which 
Drgets  the 
de  at  'The 


(I 


as 


I  d« 


it.     I  have 
my   town- 
had  piiud 
|kad  con  10 ! 
;alaraity^*' 
I  wife's   in- 
Mcredan 
lately   that 
appointed 
Ish  to  pre- 

les  fixed  on 

le  Morninf] 
the  ward 

ling  yowA 
is  her  f'^T- 

luches^  (1 
lelraiHrTdi:;'. 
Ind  will  }ro 

ituinn  and 


winter,  ihc  Christmas  and  hunting  season  we  arc  to  spend 
at  Montalien  Priory.  My  town  house  must  be  set  »u  onler  at 
oiicp,  and  you  shall  preside  in  my  wife's  place.  Maud  shall 
k'.ivo  scdiool,  and  have  a  governess." 

''Vou  give  yourselves  considerable  trouble  for  your  new 
\v;ird,"  said  Mrs.  Galbraith,  who  knew  that  giving  hiniscdf 
trouble  for  anything  or  anybody  was  not  her  brother's  weak- 
ness. "Who  is  this  Paulina  J^isle?  One  of  the  Sussex 
Lisles?" 

^'No ;  I  believe  the  father  was  of  Scotch  descent." 

"She  is  an  orphan,  of  course?" 

"Oh.  no;  the  father  lives  out  in  California,  but  not  in  the 
K';i-.t  likely  to  return  to  England.  He  w^as  an  old  friend  cd' 
Lord  Mont.alien,  and  intrusted  his  heiress  to  him,  with  flic 
power  to  appoint  a  guardian  in  his  stead  in  the  event  of  his 
death.  I  have  been  appointed,  and  trouble  or  no,  I  shall  do 
my  duty  to  this  young  lady." 

"The  mother  is  dead,  I  suppose!" 

"Of  course.  Can  you  be  ready  to  return  to  town  with  me 
tci-morrow,   Eleanor  ?" 

"Quite  ready,"  said  Mrs.  Galbraith;  and  then,  while  Sir 
Vane  went  to  his  room,  she  finished  her  dinner,  regarding 
her  plate  with  a  thoughtful  frown. 

"Vane  has  changed  very  greatly,"  she  mused,  "or  he  nevtu- 
would  have  burdened  himself  with  a  ward  at  all.  Is  he  krcp- 
ing  something  back,  I  wonder?  lias  he  designs  upon  this 
Miss  Lisle's  fortune?  Does  he  expect  his  wife  to  die,  and 
that  this  young  heiress  will  marry  him?" 

The  baronet  and  his  sister  returned  to  town  early  next  day, 
and  Mrs.  Galbraith  set  to  work  at  once  with  a  zeal  and  cn- 
enxy  that  showed  she  had  lost  none  of  her  sharp  faeulti<'S 
(hiring  her  nineteen  years'  exile  from  the  world.  Sim  saw  to 
the  refurnishing  and  repainting  and  rehaftging  of  tln^  house 
and  rooms,  to  the  plate,  the  linen,  the  liveries — alh  Long 
before  the  middle  of  October  arrived,  the  house  in  Mcrcdan 
street,  Berkeley  Square,  was  quite  ready  for  the  reception  of 
Miss  Paulina  Lisle. 

Sir  Vane  brought  his  daughter  home,  and  tlien  started  foi- 
France.  The  baronet's  daughter  was  in  her  sixteenth  yeai 
now,  small  of  stature,  dark  of  skin,  and  with  a  pah%  preco 
cious  little  face.  She  had  quite  the  air  and  conversation  of 
aj;rown-up  person,  knew  a  deal  of  life,  and  French  literature, 
Onuld  play  a  little,  sing  a  little^  draw  a  little,  and  dance  and 
talk  a  great  deal.  Iler  aunt  and  she  fraternized  at  once, 
1  drove  out  in  the  Park  together,  and  3peculated  what  r>"M.Ti€M* 
of  person  this  Miss  Lisle  might  be  now. 


152 


Paulina. 


'■Youi  fntli'Vi'  says  sho  is  vnry  hnndsoiiw,  Maud/'  )bsiMvo(] 
IVIrs.  Calbntitli. 

"liaiidsdUK'!  oh  dear,  no;  quite  a  plain  young  person     \,tli 
.   i^iviit  evis,  and  sandy  liair.  and  tho  rndest  inannern.     (^iiite 
im  uninforiiU'd,  gawky  country  j^irl!'' 

I-al(^  in  tho  evening"  of  a  dismal  day  in  Ootobor,  Sir  V:iiifi 
i\:u\  his  ward,  arrived.  Jt  liad  rained  and  blown  heavilv  ;ill 
day  long.  MiH«  Lisle  had  sufiered  agonieb  worse  than  (1<  ;ith 
erossinj^  the  Channel,  and  was  as  limp,  and  pallid,  and  wm- 
l)ef2:()ne  an  object  as  can  be  conceived.  Mrs,  Galbriiiih 
shriiji}.:ed  her  broad  shoulders  as  she  looked  at  the  wan,  spii  it- 
less  I'ace. 

"And  you  called  her  handsome,  Vane?"  she  said  to  lur 
brother. 

Sir  Vane  laughe<l  grimly. 

"Wait  until  to-morrov,-,"  was  his  oracular  response,  as  Ic, 
too,  in  a  used-up  state,  retired  t.o-his  room. 

Lor<l  Montalien,  who,  since  the  middle  of  the  previous  >rii- 
teniber,  had  spent  the  ch'cf  part  of  his  time  in  town,  chau.  id 
to  l;e  in  tlie  house.  II'^  was  a  frequent  visitor.  The  li  .iih' 
v.as  pleasant,  the-^inrs  and  cook  excellent,  Mrs.  Galbniifli 
a  c.ipital  hostess  and  a  clever*  woman,  and  little  Maud,  in  a 
y«>ar  or  two,  would  be  marriageable.  Her  mother's  forluiie 
v.ould  be  hers,  and  should  Miss  Lisle  prove  obdurate  to  his 
mit,  why,  it  might  be  as  well  to  win  the  regards  of  Mi>* 
Chartcris.  To  marry  a  rich  wife  he  was  resolved — at  lit  ;irt 
he  was  a  very  niivSer,'and  worshiped  gold  for  gold's  sake. 

"A  sickly,  sallow,  spiritless  creature  as  ever  1  saw!"  was 
^Irs.  (^albraith's  contemptuous  verdict  on  her  return  to  tlie 
drawing-room.  "There  will  not  be  much  credit  in  chapi  i  'ii- 
ing  her.  1  dare  say  she  will  marry;  girls  with  eighty  tlinii- 
sand  pounds  are  pretty  safe  to  go  off,  but  half  the  hk  ii  i: 
London  will  certainly  not  lose  their  senses  about  her!  .' .;il 
my  brother  told  me  she  was  pretty!" 

"She  was  pretty,"  said  Lord  Montalien,  "more  than  pretty.' 
if  I  remember  right,  two  years  ago.     Allan  Fane,  an  artist 
friend  of  mine,  the  man  who  married  Di  Ilautton,  you  know, 
nea.  /  went  mad  about  her  when  she  was  only  a  poor,  lit  lie, 
,/cni./^s»  country  girl.    Some  girls  do  grow  plain,  and  I  sup- 
;ip    A  one  of  them.    We  shall  be  treated  to  austere  ron- 
,-j"»r       .-v.  .      .).  doubt,  and  have  to  listen  to  monastery  bills 
,  anc    "•''•*^r    lymns,  whenever  she  sits  down  to  the  pian(»."' 
^      'Vome    o  dinner  to-morrow  and  see,"  was  Mrs.  Galbraith's 
r^ponse.    And  his  lordship  laughingly  promised  and  left  th«| 
house. 

He  did  not  return  to  hks  own  elegant  bachelor  lodgings  in 
Piccadilly,  but  drove  to  Gilbert's   Gardens,  and  spent  tin  I 


Paulina. 


153 


said   to  litr 


evening  very  agroeably  in  Oio  ^or-ioty  of  a  ]\c.y  whom  lio 
called  "Alice,"  and  to  wiiOiH  he  did  not  speak  of  the  return 
of  Paulina  Lisle. 

Lord  Montalien,  as  a  privileged  friend  of  the  family,  came 
early  to  the  house  <.f  Sir  ViMio  Cliarteris  the  followinjr  oven- 
in^'.  There  was  to  be  a  dinn<>r  party,  \>\\{  lie  u  is  the  first  of 
the  puests  to  arrive.  Mrs.  Galbraith,  in  crimson  velvet, 
stately  and  majestic,  received  him  in  the  winter  drawinjf- 
ri'um.  Two  young  ladies  were  present,  one  in  her  simple 
schoolroom  attire,  for  Maud  did  not  yet  appear  in  public, 
another,  tall  and  slender,  in  blue  silk,  with  violets  in  her 
shining,  gold-brown  hair.  Lord  Montalien  ai)proaehed  her 
iit  once  with  outstretched  hand. 

"As  I  was  the  last  to  say  farewell  to  Miss  Paulina  Lisle  on 
her  departure,  so  let  me  be  the  first  to  welcome  her  back  to 
England." 

Miss  Lisle  turned  round,  and  gave  him  her  hand,  scanning 
him  with  blue  bright  eyes. 

**I  beg  your  pardon,  you  were  not  the  last  to  say  farewell  to 
iiie  upon  my  departure  from  England,"  she  retorted,  and  it 
was  characteristic  that  her  first  words  were  a  contradiction. 
"Vour  brother  came  after  you,  Mr.  Earlscourt." 

"Not  Mr.  Earlseourt  now,  my  dear,"  smoothly  insinuated 
}!rs.  Galbraith.    "Lord  Montalien." 

'Oh,  yes!  I  beg  your  pardon  again.  The  other  name  was 
the  most  familiar." 

"Then  call  me  by  whatever  is  most  familiar,"  with  a  long, 
tender  glance,  "as  so  old  a  friend  should." 

"So  old  a  friend!"  Miss  Lisle  pursed  up  her  bright  lips 
with  the  old  saucy  grace.  "Let  me  see — we  met  just  three 
times  in  our  lives  before  this  moment!  Now,  I  shouldn't 
think  three  meetings  would  constitute  such  very  old  friend- 
ship, but,  of  course,  your  lordship  knows  best." 

She  walked  away  to  a  distant  window,  humming  a  French 
song.  Lord  Montalien  looked  after  her,  then  at  Mrs.  Gal- 
braith. • 

"A  sickly,  sallow,  spiritless  creature,"  he  said,  quoting  her 
words  of  yesterday.  "Mrs.  Galbraith,  you  are  one  of  the 
cleverest  women  I  know,  but  don't  you  think  you  made  ever 
^o  slight  a  mistake  yesterday?" 

The  girl  was  looking  superbly.  The  slim  form  had  grown 
taller  and  rather  fuller,  its  willowly  grace  was  i)erfect.  The 
face,  perhaps,  was  a  trifle  too  pale  and  thin  still,  out  the 
large,  brilliant,  sapphire  eyes,  the  sparkling  white  teeth,  the 
^;incy,  ever-dimpling  smiles,  and  the  aureole  of  bronze  hair, 
would  have  lit  any  face  into  beauty.  In  her  nineteenth  year, 
enough  of  childhood  yet  lingered  to  give  her  a  frank  confi- 


t 


.1:,' 


tM 


Paulina, 


(Iciu'o  that  raivl"'  Iflsts  thrnu;^];  Intor  years.  The  blj:  eyr? 
looked  yoii  full,  brif,}iil,y,  .stc!  liiy  iri  fho  fncc,  the  friitik 
lips  told  .voii  the  truth,  v\ilh  iili  the  audacity  of  a  child.  A 
lately  ii'irl,  iu  her  lin.l  .;,  .«utli,  v.i;li  o  will  and  a  spirit,  and  ;i 
temper,  trio,  .)f  bcr  own,  ready  ait  d  moinent^a  notice  to  (!(i 
hiittle  for  frirndrt  or  with  fn;s. 

"A  half-tan;od  filly,  v.ith  a  wicked  light  in  tiio  eyes," 
thought  Lord  Alontaiien,  "Aly  dear  Mrs.  (Jialhraith,  I  don't 
want  to  dijJcourage  you,  but  your  spiritless  dehntantc.  will 
give  you  as  much  trcjuldo  in  the  future  i.^  ever  dehufanh', 
gave  ebap(rone.  'J  Iiat  y-'Unf?  lady  means  to  have  her  own 
way  or  know  the  reason  wiiy." 

''Young  ladios  with  eifihty  thousand  pounds  generally  d  » 
have  their  own  way,"  flu;  hidy  answered.  "Do  you  monn  In 
enter  the  list,  my  lord'  The  competition  vvill  I)e  brisk.  Si,i' 
is  a  handsome  girl,  (^•"spi.'-:  yesterday's  sea -sickness.  r!u.-;i 
t=  =  £ort  of  {-irl  men  lo.-o  tb.eir  bonds  for  most  readily.  By  tlie 
bv,  f,;hn  ha>^  boon  asking  for  your  scapegrace  brother." 

Alls.  (Jaibraith  rose  to  receive  some  new  guest,  and  Loi  ! 
miontalien  approach(>tl  the  v.'ind(^w  wherjs  ]\[i^.s  Lisle  rti'-. 
stiiod  gazin::::  out  at  the  twilit  street.  She  glanced  over  h;  r 
Hhoulder,  and  asked  him  a  question  before  he  could  speak. 

"My  lord,  how  long  is  it  si)ice  you  were  at  Speckhavi  n?" 

"A  little  over  a  woek,  JVIiss  Lisle.  You  mean  to  visit  it 
soon,  T  ^uppo^e?  By  the  way,  there  is  quite  an  old  friend  <>{ 
yours  stoi)ping   at  IMontaiien.'^  y- 

"Indeed!  Another  old  friend,  like  yourself,  whom  1  hav(^ 
probably  seen  three  tin.es.' 

"More  than  that,  Miss  Lisle.    I  allude  to  Allan  Fane." 

"Oh!"  said  Paulina,  and  laughed  and  blushed.  "Yes,  I 
saw  a  good  deal  of  Mr.  Fane  at  one  time.  He  wanted  me  to 
sit  for  a  picture,  you  know.  Mrs.  Fane  is  there  too,  1  sup- 
pose ?" 

"No,  Mr.  Fane  is  alone.  Mrs.  Fane  is  in  Germany  for  her 
health,  which  is  poor.  They  meet  once  or  twice  a  year,  I  be- 
lieve, and  are  always  perfectly  ci^l  to  each  other;  but,  as  a 
rule,  they  get  on  much  more  happily  with  two  or  three  hun- 
dred leagues  between  them.  Mrs.  Fane  grows  old  and  sickly, 
and  is  notoriously  jealous  of  her  husband." 

"Poor  Mr.  Fane!  A.nd  your  brother,  my  lord — is  he,  too, 
at  Montalien?" 

"You  remember  Guy,  then? — ^poor  Guy!" 

"Certainly  I  remember  Oxiy.  I  saw  a  great  deal  more  of 
him  than  I  ever  did  of  you ;  and  two  years  ia  not  such  an 
eternity!    And  why  poor  Guy?" 

"Because — because — ^you  haven^t  heard,  then?" 

"Lord  MontalienJ  I  only  reached  England  late  last  night; 


Paulina. 


•55 


l:nvv  was  i  to  lioar  anything ^  Ni.tluJig  v(.rv  'Iroadful  hay  ho- 
falloii  yoiir  hroilicr,  I  liopc^"' 

"Y()i!r  iiilrrrst  tiocH  liiin  too  inurii  lioiior.  ilr  is  (juito  uii- 
v.-ortliy  of  it.'' 

"Why,  plrnse?" 

"Hccjmsf  -  Tiiy  dear  Miss  l/islr,  it  is  iiol  a  plciisnit  sfory 
for  iiK!  \o  ti'll,  for  you  «j  iicar.  (Juy  has  ^oiic  \n  the  ha<l,  ag 
thoy  say,  if  y(»u  know  wliat  thai  iik  aus." 

"I  sliouhl  think  I  (lid;  it  scenis  toh>rahly  jkhiiji  I'liijilisli.  U 
(IK  aiis,  1  su])poiJC,  he  has  sjxMit  all  his  inniu'v,  ai  d  ^;it  into 
(l(l)t." 

"It,  means  that,  and  njorc,''  Lord  Monlalicn  answrrcd, 
gloomily;  "it  means  debt,  and  Manihlinfr,  and  ail  sort.^  of 
horrors." 

"Yos.  But  you  are  very  rich,  my  lord,  iwu]  he  i-;  your  only 
brother.  T  should  think  his  debts  would  imt  sij^nify  niuch 
while  you  have  plenty  of  money." 

The  dark  blood  rose  up  over  his  lordship's  fnci* 

"Miss  l-i^lc,  you  don't  understand,  and  it  is  imjiossihle  to 
explain — to  you.  Guy  has  gone;  to  tlie  bad  in  every  sense  of 
the  word.    Pray  do  not  ask  me  a:iy  more." 

He  shifted  away  from  the  ^aze  of  the  innoc  Mit.  wonderin;:^ 
blue  eyes.  She  did  not  in  the  least  eonipreheiMl  vhat-  ho 
wished  her  to  comprehend  by  his  innuendoes.  (Juy  i^'aniLled 
and  spent  his  money;  she  understood  just  that,  and  no  more. 

"Well,"  she  said,  too  hijirhly  bred  to  press  an  ninveleoine 
suhjeet,  "that  was  not  what  I  wished  to  say.  Did  you  bear- 
was  there  any  news?"  She  hesitated  a  lit  lie.  and  a  faint 
Hush  rose  «p  over  her  fair  faee.  "Has  aT-ythin^'-  boen  heard 
of  Alice  Warvpu  i" 

The  questic  confounded  him,  and  yet  he  mit?ht  have  t.x- 
l)octed  it. 

"Alice  Warren,"  he  stammered.  "Alice  W^arren  ?  Who  '9 
she>" 

"Who  is  she?"  Paulina  rei)eated,  emphatically;  ^'\(>u  did 
not  need  to  ask  that  question  two  years  ago,  when  you  ad- 
n  ired  her  so  greatly,  Lord  Montalien." 

"Admired  her  so  greatly  I  oh,  of  course,  I  knov/  now — how 
stupid  I  am — you  mean  the  bnilifPs  daughter,  of  eoiirse?" 

"Vcs,  I  mean  the  bailiff's  daughter.     Poor  Alic*  I" 

''There  is  no  news  of  her,  that  1  have  h(>ard.  Tl  is  a  very 
ftrai^ge  thing,  her  running  av.-ay  from  home  as  sbg  did." 

"Xot  in  the  least  strange,"  retorted  Paulina,  with  her  eus- 
1(tr)U!''y  frankness.     "Slie  ran  away  1o  be  married  " 

"To  be  married!''  Lord  Montalien's  face  wae  siait'ed  and 
pale  as  he  repeated  it. 

"Certainly o     Sh©  wrote  to  me  tlie  niij^ht  befcra  she  laffc 


i|fi;6 


Paulina. 


Ijorrm.     T  luivc  flic  letter  yft.     Slie  tf»I(1  ine  sne  \van  U  >inM  *■•: 
bo  niMrried." 

"Did  she  tell  you  t(»  wlioin'r 

His  licint  was  l-eiitiiiK  <iuiek  us  he  asked  tlui  iUfslin:! 
t,hi>Uf;}i  li(f  knew  what  tlu»  answer  would  he. 

"Nil.     To  HoiiH'.  oik;  above   her   in  rank,  thou^rli,   1   kiinn- 
Jiord   Montaiien,  don't  you  suspecit  it  was  one  of  tiie  gentli- 
•  men  slaying!:  at  ynur  place  last  month?" 

lie  had  had  time  to  ('ontr(d  himsc^if,  otherwise  the  g";i/(  if 
the  iaiK<S  earnest  eyes  nuist  havc^  disconcerted  him  liorriMy. 

"Miss  Lisle,  1  have  thought,  T  have  suspected!  She  !<  tl 
late  in  the  evening.  Have  you  heard  who  traveled  up  wiili 
her  to  Lond(tn  ?'' 

"Of  course  not;  I  have  heard  nothing  hut  what  her  own 
letter  tells  itu',  and  a  few  hrief  lines  from  Duke  Mason,  say- 
ing sjie  was  gone,  no  one  knew  where  or  why.  Who  went 
with  her  up  to  London?" 

"Miss  Lisle,  will  you  take  my  arm?  They  are  going  in  tt 
dinner.  And  will  you  forgive  me  if  I  do  not  answer  ymir 
question?  She  was  your  friend — it  is  not  froui  my  iij)s  y.  j 
should  hear  the  name  of  her  companion." 

"Do  you  mean  your  brother?"  she  demanded,  abruiitiy. 

"T  am  sorry  to  say — T  do." 

"Then  I  don't  beliiRve  one  word  that  she  ran  a  way  to  '  ' 
married  to  him!"  answered  Miss  Lisle,  with  calm  dec  -i  m. 
"She  never  eared  for  him,  and  he  never  paid  her  the  le;i<t 
tentlon  whatever,  lie  may  have  gone  up  with  her  to  Lon  I  u,, 
but  I  am  quite  certain  your  brother  is  not  th(^  man  whui':  s  .  ■ 
has  married." 

"If  she  be  married!"  Lord  Montalien  said,  stung  to  1  it!  :- 
ness  by  her  words.  Miss  Lisle  did  not  blush  one  whit.  S  ;,> 
looked- at  him  wirh  surprised,  unshamed  eyes;  the  open,  fo:!i- 
Icss  gaze  of  perfect  innocence. 

"Of  course  she  is  married!"  she  said;  "she  told  me  sli(>  w  s 
going  to  be.  Do  yon  Ihink  she  would  run  away  to  seek  I-r 
fortune  alone  in  Londcn?  There  were  othtr  gentlemen  in  tlic 
Priory   last   September  besides   your  brother,   T  suppo.-o  ?" 

"Thr*^*^  others — Allan  l\\no,  ^ir  Harry  Gordon,  and  C::i)- 
tain  Villiers."  •  « 

"And  yourself?"  i^ 

"And  myself."  ~^"  '^ 

She  looked  at  him  searchingly  a  moment:  his  face  batHi'l 
her.     She  turned  away,  and  resumed  her  dinner  with  a  rcso 
lute  air. 

"1  shall  find  out,"  she  said,  quietly;  "F  am  goin,?  down  k\ 
Spef"khaven  f h "  day  afteifc  to-morrow  to  spsnd  a  we«)k;  I  shall 
find  out" 


i,llt 


Hwor  yo'ir 


Paulina. 


IS7 


'^oiriK  down  lo  S|m'«|<||}iv«'h."  lir  (('lii.cd.  "to  sporul  a  weok 
•il!t.y(M:i   (iM  fririi<l    Ma>i)ii,   1   pit  sumr." 

"Vcs;  (Iciir  (till  Dukcl  lie  will  Ik*  n;|;i<'  I  .  rn  o  itir.  And 
''    iij;!!  iin«l  nut  iill  aliitiit  Alicr  Wnrrcn." 

U»r(l  Moiitalirn  was  li.y  u*>  iruMins  allnwfil  ■  >  mt»ri(»|M»li/r  ilio 
(1.  i'ltiiic  (<f  the  ovrninj^.  Sir  N'anc  liad  iiivitcd  several  Tcry 
(1  i'.i|>!«'  imniaiTicd  nieii.  and  Miss  Li-K'n  l<;mty  iitid  spirited 
i.t\l«!  of  t'(inv«r!'al  ion  li.id  idr«'j;d.v  pidduced  rnii^id.Tiililr  ini- 
luvHsicMi.  Ilcr  uianncr  was  sijii|.l.y  prrfrct ;  a  licllc  of  four 
Masons  conM  not  have  been  inort'  entirely  and  ^r-ieefnlly  at, 
Ciise.  Slie  talked  v<'ry  nineli  lictter  than  most  yonn^;  ladies, 
rauiina  was  clever,  and  liad  id<'as  of  her  own,  and  it  wan 
(luile  refr(?shinf^  to  some  (d  tlhtse  men  ahoul  town  to  hear  .ler 
li' -h  vi(»vvs  (»f  people  and  tilings.  She  was  charming';  that 
Wiis  tJH^  univerKal  verdict — iu-autifnl  beyond  donht.  aceoin- 
plished  and  rich.  She  san^  after  dinner,  and  iier  rich  v(»:eo 
;  -lonished  her  hearers,  so  full,  so  sweet. 

"She  is  (Miual  to  Patti!"  was  tlu'  verdict  of  more  tiian  ono 
present.     "It  is  a  wiiperh  so|)rano." 

Altofifetlier,  Miss  Lisle's  first  appearance,  tliou^h  Ik  r  i)art 
this  eveninjj:  was  a  small  one,  was  an  entire  succ(v^s.  ]a)V(\ 
.Montulien  fouiid  himself  fas<Mnated  in  a  way  la;  could  not 
luiderstand.  She  was  so  unlike  the  ordinary  English  ndss 
he  was  aceustonied  to;  slie  was  so  pi(]uant,  so  sparkliufr.  so 
laij^htly  handsome  and  audacious,  that  she  bewildered  liiin. 
She  possessed  that  apell  irresistible  in  man  or  woman-  the 
frilt  of  fascination — her  joyous  laugh,  her  ringing  voice,  tli«>. 
bright  flash  of  her  eyes,  took  your  lieart  by  storm  before  you 
kiicw  it. 

Miss  Lisle  had  said,  in  all  honesty,  that  she  meant  t(t  go 
down  to  Speekhaven  in  two  days;  but  with  the  best  of  inten- 
tions, the  sincerest  affection  for  her  two  friends  there,  two 
W((  ks  elapsed  before  the  promised  visit  was  made. 

London  might  be  empty  to  some  people,  and  the  season 
over,  but  to  this  young  lady,  fresh  from  her  twilight  convent 
life,  it  was  the  most  populous  and  delightful  of  cities.  She 
\v(  nt  out  continually;  and  October  was  very  near  its  close 
\vli(  n,  one  frosty  evening,  Miss  l.ksle  oi)ene(l.the  little  garden 
Kate  of  Duke  Mason's,  and  walked  through  the  open  front 
door.  There  were  changes,  many  and  great,  in  herself,  but 
not  one  here.  The  roses  and  geraniums  bloomed  in  pereii- 
ni.il  freshness,  the  old  cat  basked  on  the  hearth,  the  .old  order, 
silence,  cleanliness  prevailed,  and  Rosanna,.  on  her  knees,  was 
to'cisting  muffins  for  tea.  Two  arms  went  around  her  n*  rk, 
and  an  impetuous  kiss,  the  only  kiss  poor  Rosanna  had  re- 
ceived since  she  had  said  good  by  to  her  nursling,  w^as  ])ressed 
Upon  her  withered  cheek.    Duke  came  in  presently.    The  fire- 


4 


■  i 

1      !- 


1^8 


Paulina, 


lierht  shone  rrrilv  throupfh  tlio  room,  the  lamp  burned  on  tlin 
niaiitol,  tho  tai)le  was  spivail  for  supper,  and  a  j^raeeful,  girl 
jah  figure  sat  on  a  low  stool,  frcrfh  and  beautiful  as  a  rosebiiil. 
Duke  sttA)d  a  second   legariling  this  picture,  then  advanced 
with  outvSt retched  hand. 

"^Vell,  Piiehess,"  lie  said,  as  if  they  had  "parted  two  ^vecks 
instead  of  two  years  before,  "you  have  come  back,  after  all." 

And  so  ''Polly"  was  home  again,  but  somehow  it  was  not 
tlie  T*oily  of  old.  The  fault  was  not  hers;  she  strove  to  be  in 
all  thi?!gs  preeiacly  the  girl  who  had  left  them,  but  she  sat  Ix- 
fore  them,  a  tall  young  lady,  out  of  their  world  altogetlur, 
with  the  new  (dignity  of  dawning  womanhood  upon  her — edu- 
cated, refined,  rich,  handsome,  fairer  than  ever,  but  never 
again  little  "Polly." 

Late  in  the  evening  of  the  ensuing  day,  Mr.  Allan  Faii(\ 
bnsily  at  work  sin(;e  early  morning,  threw  down  brushes  and 
palctt",  lit  a  eigar,  and  started  for  his  daily  brisk  twilight 
walk.  On  this  particular  evening,  his  steps  tum«Ml  shore- 
ward, he  str(dled  along  through  the  lamplit  town,  and  d<)\^ri  to 
Si;eekhaven  sands.  The  Cave  was  a  favorite  resort  of  his 
where  he  could  sit  and  smoke  and  watch  the  gray,  whisperiiii,' 
aea,  and  think,  perhaps,  of  the  girl  who  had  first  brought  him 
there,  lie  wns  thinking  of  her  now  as  he  advanced  along  t!  .■ 
shingly  path  whence  she  had  long  ago  led  him.  The  last  rays 
of  the  fading  daylight  were  in  the  cold,  gray  sky;  pale  yellmv 
ghvinis  of  wintry  brightness  lit  the  west,  and  there  was  a  riii;,' 
of  sharpness  in  the  evening  air.  His  steps  echoed  loudly  "ii 
the  sands,  and  a  quiet  figure  standing  at  the  entrance  of  the 
(^tve,  watching  those  pale  yellow  gleams,  turned  at  the 
sound.     And  be  and  Paulina  Lisle  stood  face  to  face! 

Ife  turned  jiale  at  the  sight.  He  had  not  dreamed  she  w.i> 
in  Speckhaven.  Tie  had  been  thinking  of  her,  imagining  her 
rafliant  in  her  new  life,  and  here  she  rose  up  before  him,  like 
a  spirit  in  the  gloaming!  She  recognized  him  immediately, 
and  held  out  her  hand,  with  her  frank,  bright  smile. 

"It  is  Mr.  Fane!"  she  cried.  "The  very  last  person  1  ex- 
pected to  see!  Lord  Montalien  mentioned  your  being  at  ihe 
Priory,  too,  but  I  had  actually  forgotten  all  about  it." 

Yes-the  wliole  story  was  told  in  those  lightly  ?})ukeii 
words — she  had  "forgotten  all  about  it,"  and  all  about  hiri, 
as  conii>letcly  a**  though  he  had  never  entered  her  life.  He 
had  loved  her  as  honestly  and  strongly  as  an  honester  m'mJ 
stronger  man — he  had  given  her  up  of  his  owu  accord,  and  he 
bad  no  right  to  complain.  But  the  bittt^r  ?ei.-e  <  f  I^^^.s  w.s 
ever  there — the  brilliant,  spirited  face  haunted  him  by  night 
and  day ! 

^^Well,^'  said  Miss  Lisle,  ''you  doo't  look  vwy  cordial,  I 


Paulina. 


159 


;d  on  tlio 
)ful,  girl 
i  rosebud, 
advanced 

wo  weeks 
ifter  all." 
t  waa  Hilt 
e  to  be  in 
he  sat  U'- 
[Itojjcether, 
her — edii- 
but   never 

Ian  Fane, 
•usheH  and 
k  twllifzlit 
awl   shore- 
ad  dov?n  to 
ort  of  hi-, 
svhlsperiuL,' 
ought  him 
I  along  tlf 
\e  last  ra>s 
jale  yell'uv 
was  a  rinjjf 
loudly  "II 
mce  of  tiie 
ed    at    the 
cei 

ed  she  was 
gining  lur 
e  hi  in,  like 
lined!  ately, 

ile. 

Tson  I  c^' 
?ing  at  the 
it." 

tly  «fi)(jkeii 
ibout  hini. 
life.  Ih^ 
best  or  a '.id 
n*d,  and  li*' 
:f  lor.s  \V:i^ 
}\  by  nlglit 

cordial,  I 


must  say :  Do  you  take  nie  for  a  ghost,  or  a  mermnid,  Mr, 
Fane?  You  see  I  have  been  paying  »;isits  iill  djiy  to  my  old 
friends;  and  this,  my  seaside  grotto,  is  the  last  on  the  list. 
And  now  I  really  must  go  huir.e.  Poor  Rosannn  has  a  horror 
!)f  night  dews  and  night  winds.  She  takes  me  to  be  a  fragile 
b!(»ssom,  that  a  sharp,  autumn  blast  would  nip  in  twain.  If 
vnn  won't  say  anything  else,  Mr.  Fane,  i)erhai)s  you  v>ill  say 
^(XKl-night !" 

She  laughed — Polly's  sweet,  gay  Inugh — drew  her  ?(iia\>l 
cldser  about  her,  and  turned  to  go.  She  was  very  simply 
dressed,  in  a  dark  merino,  a  soft  gray  shawl,  and  a  little 
I  (tik-pie  hatj  with  a  searlet  bird's  wing,  l^nt  tli^UKh  he  saw 
her  often  after  in  silks  and  roses,  the  que<m  of  the  ball,  never 
(lid  she  look  lovelier  than  at  that  moment.  Ife  spoke  with 
sniiiething  of  an  effort — good  Heavens,  how  cold  and  coin- 
nionplaee  the  words  soundetl  I 

''You  will  permit  me  to  st^e  j^ou  home,  Mi-s  Lisle — it  w'l 
he  quite  dark  before  you  are  half  way,  and  the  town  i.^  full 
pf  strangers,  down  for  the  October  meeting." 

A  provoking  smile  dawned  on  her  face.  She  had  not  en- 
tirely forgotten  the  past,  and  the  temptation  to  give  him  a 
stiiall  stab  was  irresistible. 

"1  am  not  the  least  afraid;  thanks,  very  much,  Mr.  Fane. 
And,  beside — it  is  quite  unpardonable  of  me  to  say  it — I  am 
afraid,  but  I  ha/e  heard  Mrs.  Fane  is — jealoin!  Do  you 
think  she  would  mind  very  greatly  if  I  permitted  you  to  es- 
cert  me  home?" 

He  looked  at  her — a  dark,  painful  flush  rising  on  his  face. 

"You  are  merciless,"  he  said.  "You  had  your  nn-enge  two 
years  ago,  on  the  day  you  gave  ine  back  my  ring!  You  might 
spare  me  now!" 

"The  ring  you  presented  the  same  night  to  Mis>  TIantton! 
1  saw  it  on  her  finger  when  T  dined  at  the  Priory.  Please 
(leirt  try  to  be  sentimental,  ^Ir.  Fane;  T  have  grown  dread- 
fully old  and  wise  since  that  foolish  time,  and  pretty  sp^-ecdies 
are  (luite  thrown  away  upon  me,  T  assure  you.  And  you  may 
walk  home  with  me — let  us  hope  !Mrs.  Fane  will  never 
hoar  it." 

After  vainly  trying  to  coniine  the  conversation  to  the  (Om- 
itiniiplace,  Allan  Fa^ie  said,  suddenly: 

"Do  you  recollect  the  'Jiosamond  and  Eleanor?  Yes,  I  see 
Villi  do — I  am  finishing  that  for  the  spring  exhibition." 

She  looked  at  him  saucily. 

"And  what  little  country  ^irl  have  you  eho-jen  for  Fair 
iiosamond  now!  Please  be  merciful  as  you  are  strong,  Mr. 
Fane,  and  don't  turn  her  head  with  your  flatteries." 

"I  paint  my  Rosamond  from  memory — my  Eleanor  is  one 


;| 

!■ 

i      1 

t 

1 

i 

■ 

■  '  it' 

'  1 

1  i 

1  : 

i6o 


Paulina. 


of  the  houseninids  at  the  Priory — a  tall,  black-browcd,  Ro- 
iiiaii-iiosod  youn^'  woman.  And  I  am  quite  alone  up  in  llio 
bi^,  rambling  old  mansion.  Ciuy  was- with  me  durinj?  tlie 
races,  but  he  has  gone." 

•"Ah!  (iuy  Kailscouit !  Do  you  kno\y  T  have  never  met 
him  yet?  and  people  s])Oidv  of  him  as  though  he  were  the  m;iii 
in  the  Iron  !\t;isk.  or  (»uy  Fawkt's,  or  anything  cise  dreadful, 
Mrs.  Galbraith  calls  him  'a  determental,'  whatever  that  m.iy 
be.    Pray,  what  has  that  unluippy  young  man  doncf 

"Nothing  to  any  one  save  himself.  You  have  heard  of  tho 
road  to  ruin,  I  supi)ose?  Well,  he  has  been  going  at  a  giillip 
along  that  highway  for  the  last  three  years.  The  end  nni-t 
conio  very  soon  now.  If  his  old  grandaunt  does  not  die,  ainl 
leave  him  her  njoney,  he  must,  in  a  few  months  at  the  niu  f, 
send  in  his  papers  to  sell  and  fly  the  country.  He  is  involved 
beyond  redemption.  Mrs.  Galbraith  is  quite  right;  in  a  mar- 
riageable point  of  view,  he  is  a  determental." 

"Poor  fellow,"  Paulina  said,  her  eyes  softening.  "I  atn 
sorry!    I  used  to  like  him  very  much.    He  was  so  handsome" 

"And  is  still.  T  wonder  his  handsome  face  has  not  wm 
him  an  heiress  long  ago.  It  would,  I  think,  if  he  tried,  l»ut 
he  seems  to  have  no  time." 

"If  he  is  ruined,  as  you  say,  how  does  he  live?" 

"By  a  well-made  betting  book,  by  a  run  of  luck  at  cards,  hy 
ele^'erJy  written  magazine  articles.  Once  or  twice  his  aunt 
has  paid  his  debts — he  tells  me  she  has  refused  to  do  it  agiiii. 
He  has  gone  across  to  Germany  for  the  autumn  races." 

They  had  reached  the  house  now,  and  Rosanna  was  w\aitiiii," 
anxiously  in   the  doorway.     Miss  Lisle  bade  him  good-ni^ht, 
and  Allan  Fane  strolled  homeward  through  the  sharp  Octohir 
night,  thinking — well,  not  of  his  wife. 

Sir  Vane  Charteris  came  down  for  his  ward  at  the  exiiiia- 
tion  of  the  week,  and  Paulina  went  with  him  very  williii!;ly. 
It  was  pleasant  to  see  her  old  friends,  no  doubt,  but  life  in 
Duke  Mason's  house  seemed  hopelessly  dull  to  her  now. 

On  the  night  of  her  return  she  went  to  see  Ristori  in 
"IVIary  Stuart."  The  house  was  full,  the  actress  magnifin  i!. 
and^  Miss  Lisle,  in  pale,  flowing  silks  and  pearls,  lo.ikil 
charnMUgly.  Two  or  three  of  her  admirers  were  in  the  1."n; 
and  when  the  first  act  was  nearly  over  there  entered  l.-n'l 
Montalien.  His  eyes  lit  as  they  fell  on  her,  hers  gave  liiiu 
he  briefest,  eoldest  possible  glance.  She  did  not  like  l.od 
Montalien.  The  girl's  perceptive  faculties  were  very  knii, 
She  knew  him  to  be  false  and  cruel,  sm^'oth  and  deceli  u'. 
iThe  expression  of  his  mouth  revolted  her,  the  liard,  iCMj 
«5litier  of  hi:  (.-os  made  her  shrink  away. 


Paulina, 


I6l 


''*-  nope  you  found  all  your  frieiulA  at  Spookliavon  (luita 
leoll,''  he  said  to  her  as  the  eurtaiii  weiit  down 

'^'Quitc,"  she  answered,  briefly.     "All  who  remain.'" 

''Ah;  you  allude,  of  eourse — — ** 

"]  allude,  of  eourse,  to  n>y  d(>arest  friend,  Aiiee  Warren. 
I  toid  you  when  I  went  to  Speekhaven  1  sliould  lu'natrnt*'  ti»« 
mystery  of  her  flijiht,  and — I  have  fjiilcd.'' 

There  was  a  satisfied  smile  just  pereeptilile  al»<)ut  his  mouth 
— :<A{)ne  in  an  instant.  ^ 

"I  feared  you  would.     Her  father  eould  tell  you  n"othin<^." 

"Xolhin.1^  that  you  had  not  aln^idy  told  nic — th;it  your 
brother  traveled  with  her  up  to  town." 

"Then  Ouy  is  the  umn.  Are  you  satisfied  now  th;it  my 
suspieions  are  ri.uht  V' 

"W<iuld  you   like  me  tg  tell  you  whom  I  do  suspeet.  mv 

lord  r 

"I'ndoubtedly." 

She  looked  at  him — full,  bright,  dauntlessly,  and  answered: 

"You !" 

"iMiss  Lisle  I' 

"My  lord, -your  brother  Cuy  vvna  never  the  man  Alice  left 
home  to  lUarry.  ^he  never  cared  for  your  brother- -she  did 
for  you.  Guy  may  have  traveled  uj)  witii  her  to  Lotuhsn — he 
acknowledges  it,  indeed,  but  he  hnd  no  part  in  her  flight.  lie 
went  to  Mr.  Warren's  house,  and  told  him  so,  and  the  old 
man  believes  him.  He  tells,  frankly  enough,  his  share  in  tile 
business.  He  :met  her  at  the  rnin^riy  station,  he  traveled  up 
with  her  in  i\e  same  carriage,  and  at  her  retiuest  lie  drove 
with  her  to  her  destination.  That  destinatio»  he  r*  fuses  to 
tell — she  bound  him  by  promise  lun-self  not  to  do  so;  and 
Mathew  Warreti  does  not  urge  him  to  reveal  it.  Jle  is  bit- 
terly, cruelly  angry — he  never  wishes  to  hear  her  name— if 
she  came  to  his  door  a  wedded  wile  he  would  not  t;ikt>  her  in. 
He  will  never  forgive  her — he  will  not  lift  a  finger  to  si-ck 
her.  But  I  will!" — the  blue  eyes  flashing — "T  shall  find  her. 
and  that  before  long!" 

"May  T  ask  what  you  mean  to  do?" 

"T  shall  advertise — T  shall  emj)loy  the  best  detectives  in 
YiOndon — T  will  move  heaven  ;intl  earth  to  find  her!" 

"And  when  sIk^  is  found,  will  she  tlinnk  you,  do  you  t}ii'd<, 
for  thus  forcing  her  from  the  piiva<'y  she  seems  to  desircf" 

"She  wili  forgive  itic — we  loved  e;)ch  other.  T.oi'd  MmiiI  •- 
lien,  will  you  tell  mc  the  truth,  will  you  acknowdedge  you 
know  where  she  is?"  4. 

"Mi^'3  Lisle,  from  any  other  lips  the  question  would  be  an 
insult     I  know  noth'ing  of  Alice  Warren.    Wherever  she  is. 


"■  T'1 

1 

i62    Now  I  Live,  Now  My  Life  Is  Done! 

/  ,.. 

wliosoover's  wife  sho  may  be,  she  is  not  mine.  Will  you  not 
believe  me,  when  I  pledge  you  my  honor,  I  speak  the  truth ?^ 

She  turned  from  him,  and  back  to  the  stage,  as  the  eurfain 
went  up  on  the  next  scene.  Her  face  was  set  with  an  expres- 
sion }\vw  to  every  one  who  saw  her. 

"1  shall  never  rest  until  T  know  the  truth;  T  will  never  de- 
sist until  I  discover  the  secret.  I  shall  find  Alice  Warren  if 
fthe  l)e  in  England,  and  the  man  who  promised  to  make  her 
his  wife !"  .        "  •  ^ 


•  CTTAPTER  IV. 

NCnV    I    LIVK,    NOW    MY     LIFE    IS    DONT:! 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  first  of  NovenibeF> 

That  disnialest  of  mouths  had  come  in  with  bitter,  east- 
erly wind,  with  dull  fog,  and  miserable,  drizzling  rain,  that 
wet  and  chilled  you  to  the  very  marrov/. 

It  W41S  about  fo\ir  o'clock,  and  already  the  gas  flared 
through  the  city,  glinunering  in  a  gliastly  way  through  drizzle 
and  fog. 

At  tlje  window  of  the  lodging-house  in  Gilbert's  Gardens, 
a  vvv)ni.'in  sat  looking  out  at  the  wretched  prospect;  at  the 
daik,  drift ing  clouds;  at  the  ceaseless  rain,  beating  heavily 
against  the  glass;  at  the  blue-nosed  pedestrians,  hurrying  Ly, 
vvilli  lurdirellas  and  overcoats,  at  the  one  lamp,  flaring  redly 
lit  llie  utMrest  corner.  A  woman,  pale,  and  wan,  an<l  haggard, 
t  hanged  almost  beyond  recognition — Alice! 

On^y  seven  weeks  had  gone  by  since  that  warm  September 
nigiit  vvhen,  for  love  of  Francis  Earlscourt,  she  had  fled  from 
hon:e  and  friends,  and  already  the  end  had  cam.e.  It  was  the 
natur:)!  ending  of  ail  such  stories;  but  how  was -she  to  know 
thnti  IVIad  passion  for  a  fortnight,  cooling  passion  for  an- 
other, satiety,  weariness,  disgust. 

The  end  had  come.  It  was  only  the  old,  old  strry,  told, 
and  told,  and  told — she  had  staked  all  on  one  throw,  and — 
lost ! 

She  had  saf  for  hours  as  she  sat  nov/,  her  hands  lyin^, 
heavily  in  her  lap,  her  haggard  eyes  fixed  on  the  murky  Lon- 
don sky.  The  room  was  as  pleasant  as  it  is  in  the  nature  of 
Lo!  'on  lodgings  ever  to  be.  A  fire  burned  in  the  grate,  and 
on  the  little  center  table  stood  a  glass  filled  with  yellbw  ainl 
pink  roses.  Their  fragrance  filled  the  room — their  sweetness 
breathing  of  the  summer  dead,  and  of  all  she  had  lost  with 
its  fading.  • 

The  nearest  church  clock  struck  the  quarter  past  four.    As 


that  li 
gone 
swervi 
loM'r 
the  bl 
of  her 
Her 
had — ^ 
a  man 
could 
in  her 
St.  Et 
Aire 
him — t 
loved 
th(^  saul 
Lisle 

It  Wl 
ton  em 
read,  : 
dying 
friendl; 
and  th( 
of  COUl 


I  not 

rfain 

pres- 

ir  (le- 
■en  if 
e  her 


,  fast- 
1,  that 

flaroil 
drizzle 

ardeus, 
at  the 
leavily 
iig  hy, 
r  redly 

[iggard 

teniber 
Id  from 
^vas  the 
know 
or  an- 

,   told, 
and — 

lyini, 
:y  Loii- 
Iture  of 
Ite,  and 
Ibw  and 
}e6tne>*s 
Ut  with 


mr. 


As 


,  .,vv/  I  Live,  Now  My  Lite  is  Donef    i6) 

ehc  heard  it,  she  moved  -ostlossly  tor  the  first  time,  and  a 
spasm  of  intense  pain  crorisod  her  face. 

"He  should  have  heen  here  an  hour  a^o,"  she  said,  in  p* 
»()vt  of  fritfhtoncd  whisper.  "Will  he  nut  eouie  after  aW'i 
Will  he  never  come  agaWn  if" 

She  t;ot  up,  and  walked  over  to  the  mirror  on  the  numtel, 
lfK)king  with  i)iteous  eyes  at  her  own  wasted  fac-e  and  figure. 
She  had  been  crying-  for  hours,  crying  until  there  W(>re  no 
more  tears  to  flow,  and  slie  helield  the  natural  ro«ult — dim, 
sunken  eyes,  a  bloated  and  swollen  face.  It  is  not  given  to 
allf  alas!  t*'  shed  silent,  pearly  tears,  such  as  you  read  of  my 
Lady  Kowena  shedding  in  her  silken  boudoir. 

Alice  had  wept  for  hours,  until  eyes  and  heart  ached 
alike.  She  had  dressed  herself  in  Iut  one  best  dress — i)oor 
soul!  a  dress  of  blue  and  whit^*  that  "Frank"  had  onee  said 
he  liketl,  but  it  hung  loose  fr 'i  lier  shrunken  figure  now. 

Beauty  and  youth  and  hrightn(\ss  had  all  gone.  She 
shrunk  away,  almost  in  liorror,  from  the  sight  of  her  own 
pallid  face,  her  hollowed,  dulled  eyes! 

"And  he  used  to  praise  my  pretty  looks!"  she  said.  "What 
will  he  think  of  me  now  ^" 

She  felt,  without  being  able  to  thiidv  very  deci)ly,  on  that  or 
any  otlier  subject,  that  her  pretty  looks  were  the  only  links 
that  bound  him  to  her.  And  her  face  was  faded,  her  beauty 
gone  in  seven  weeks !  She  was  not  the  sort  of  woman  to 
swerve  from  the  straight  path  with  impunity:  but  if  her 
lover  had  been  faithful  she  might  at  least  have  forgotten  in 
the  bliss  of  that  love.  He  was  not  faithful — he  had  wearied 
of  her  in  two  brief  weeks. 

Her  pretty  face  and  her  tender  heart  were  all  the  gifts  she 
had — good  and  j)leasant  gifts,  but  not  likely  to  lon^j  enchain 
a  man  of  Lord  ]\Iontalien's  stamp.^  She  was  not  clever — she 
could  not  talk  to  him,  could  not  amuse  him,  and  he  yawned 
in  her  face  three  days  after  tJiat  ceremony  in  the  Church  of 
St.  Kthelfrida. 

Already  the  fatal  spell  of  a  fresher  beauty  had  captivated 
him — the  friend  she  loved  best  on  eai'th;  the  friend  who  best 
loved  her  had  taken  him  from  her!  The  sparkling  beauty, 
the  saucy,  self-willed,  outspokej»,  graceful  audacity  of  Paulina 
Lisle  held  Lord  Montalien  (^ithralled. 

It  was  ten  days  since  he  had  been  \h\\v  (iilbert's  Gardens — 
ten  endless,  dreary  days.  She  had  nothing  to  do,  nothing  to 
read,  not  a  soul  to  speak  to,  only  her  own  miserable,  never- 
dying  suspicions  for  company.  Until  yesterday,  when  a 
friendly  face  and  kindly  eyes  from  home  had  looked  upon  her, 
and  those  roses  fresh  from  Sjjeckhaven  had  brought  a  breath 
of  country  sweetnetjs  to  her  dingy  room.     She  had  written 


I 


1  '11 


•  I 


l64    Now  I  Live,  Now  My  Life  is  Done! 


i'  I 


,,.,  I 


last  iiiKli^^^  ill  iier  <l<'spcration,  to  hor  husV)and;  and  now,  as 
>ho  rainy  afternoon  wore  , on,  slic  waited  iijs  coining. 

As  she  turned  ffoni  the  gUiss,  the  rapid  roll  of  wheels 
caught  lier  ear.  She  (hirted  to  the  wln(h>w.  Tiiank  God! — 
oh,  thank  God!  he  had  eoii:f — lie  ^ as  here  at  last!  lie 
sprang  from  the  cah,  hade  the  <lriver  wait,  and  a  mighty 
double  knock  a  sec«nd  after  made  the  hcjuse  shake.  Mrs. 
Howe  came  to  the  d(K)r  in  person.  Sj;e  knew  that  imperious 
knock  well,  and  was  almost  a.!  glad  to  hear  it  again  as  her 
lodger.  Two  weeks'  rent  was  due,  and  "Mrs.  Brown,"  her 
lodger,  never  seemed  to  have  any  money,  and  spent  her  time 
in  tears  and  loneliness.  U  dawned  upon  the  landlady's  mind 
that  all  was  not  right,  and  that  the  sooner  she  got  rid  of  her 
the  better. 

^'Whieh  a  man  that  mutfles  hiniself  up  t-o  that  degree  that 
you  never  see  no  more  of  him  than  two  heyes  and  a  nose,  is 
no  better  than  he  ought  to  be,  and  must  have  something  to 
hide.  I  declare  to  you,  mum,  Mrs.  Brown,  if  she  is  Mrs. 
lirovvn,  has  been  lodging  with  me  nigh  upon  seven  weeks,  and 
he  a-eoming  and  a-going  all  that  time,  and  I  never  once, 
since  the  first  night,  had  a  good  look  at  his  face.  A  tall  and 
'ancteome  man  as  ever  I  see;  but  .andsome  is  as  'andsome 
does,  and  a  millingtary  swell  he  is,  1  know,  and  no  more  jjlain 
Mr.  Brown  than  you  or  me." 

She  admitted  him  now,  dropping  a  curtesy,  and  scanning 
him  curiously.  But  the  passage  was  dark  at  all  times,  doubly 
dark  now,  and  the  tall  form  of  "Mr.  ]>rown"  brushed  past 
her,  and  dashed  up  the  stairs  and  into  her  lodger's  room. 

With  a  cry  of  joy,  a  sob  not  to  be  supjiressed,  she  iiung 
herself  into  his  arms. 

ou  have  c( 
i^gain." 

"You  took  devilish  good  care  not  to  let  me  do  that!  What 
do  you  mean,  madam,  by  writing  to  me?  Did  I  not  ex- 
pressly forbid  you  ever  to  write,  or  come  near  my  lodgings  if" 

He  turned  the  key  in  the  door,  breaking  angrily_  free  from 
her  encircling  arms,  flung  himself  into  the  easy-chair  she  had 
placed  for  him  before  the  fire,  and  looked  at  her  with  a  darkly 
angry  glance. 

She  stretched  out  her  hands  to  him,  shrinking  away  lik.  a 
child  who  has  been  struck  a  blow. 

"Forgive  me,  Frank;  I  meant  no  harm.  T  wr.',  '-.n  lonely  ■ 
oh,  so  lonely;  and  it  is  ten  days  since " 

Her  voice  broke,  in  spite  of  h(»r.  She  covered  her  faei',  and 
her  sn]>pressed  sobbing  tilled  the  room. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  groaned  her  visitor,  "here  it  is  again,  before 
I  am  tw<i  seconds  in  the  house  I    Tears  and  scenes,  reproaches 


"Frank!  oh,  Frank!  you  have  come  at  last!    I  thought  you 
were  never  going  to  com^gs 


jv,  as 

heels 

j(l  !- 

lie 

Mrs. 

IS  her 
"   her 

•  time 
miiul 

of  lier 

se  that 
ose,  is 
ing  to 
s  Mrs. 
is,  ami 

•  ontH% 
all  and 
iidsmne 
[e  plain 

aiming 
(louhly 
d  past 

lom. 
llunK 

rht  yon 

What 
not  ex- 

^e  from 
she  had 
darkly 

V  Ilk."  ;i 

uuely-  - 

.»ee,  and 

I,  before 
)roache3 


Now  i  Live,  Now  My  Life  is  Done!    i6s 

and  sob\i — always  tiio  same!  And  you  eomphiin  that  [  don't 
come  to  sec  you."  .  .* 

Ho  seized  the  i)()ker,  and  ^ave  the  fire  a  vieiou:*  dig"  Ho 
had  thrown  4»is  felt  liat  on  the  lloor  heside  him,  and  his  tliin, 
saUow  faee  was  set  in  an  ant?ry  scowl.  il(>  Kx.ked  a  ver> 
different  man  from  the  suave  and  eourtoous  genthMnan  wlio 
had  bent  over  the  chair  of  I'anlina  Lisle  at  the  theatre  oidy 
the  ni^ht  before — very  ditl'erent  from  the  ardeut  \uvcr  who 
had  wooc'l  Alice  Warren's  fresh  face  down  amoiij<  llu^  clover 
fields  and  lir  trees  of  Moutalien. 

She  swallowed  her  subs  l)y  a  great  etiort,  and  coming  tim- 
idly over,  knelt  down  beside  liim. 

"Don't  be  hard  on  me,  Traid-c,''  she  pleaded;  "I  don't  menu 
to  reproach  you;  but  1  am  so  mueli  alone,  and  1  have  mith- 
ing  to  do,  and  no  one  to  speak  to,  and  i  get  thinking  of  home, 
and  get  low-spirited.  Won't  you  teil  me,  Frank,  why  you 
have  stayed  away  so  long^' 

He  looked  at  her  with  hard,  cruel  eyes. 

"Because  I  have  grown  tired  of  coming!  Will  that  do, 
Mrs.  Browr  ?" 

"Frank  !'\ 

He  was  still  looking  at  her.  searchingly,  pitilessly,  not  once 
shrinking  from  the  gaze  of  the  large,  horrorstru(;k  eyes. 

"You  have  not  improved  in  my  absence,  at  all  events,"  ho 
said,  with  a  short  laugh.  '"V^ou  are  actually  growing  old  and 
ugly.  'Beauty  is  fleeting' — certainly  in  your  case.  If  you 
had  looked  like  this  down  at  Speckhaven,  I  don^t  thiidv — 
well,  I  don't  think  I  should  ever  have  given  you  the  trouble 
of  coming  up  to  town.  Pray,  what  have  you  been  doing  since 
I  saw  you  last  ?" 

"Nothing,"  her  voice  seeming  hoarse  and  unnatural. 
"Only  thinking  of  you." 

"A  very  unprofitable  way  of  spending  your  time.  And  now 
that  you  have  sent  for  me,  will  you  have  the  kindness  to  in- 
form me  what  you  want  ?" 

"Frank,  you  ask  that  question  ?" 

"A  very  natural  question,  1  think.  And  m  the  first  place, 
will  you  tell  me  how  you  discovered  my  address  at  all?" 

She  rose  up  from  her  kneeling  position,  stung  to  the  cjuick 
by  the  insolence,  more  even  of  his  tone  and  look  than  his 
words.  She  shed  no  tears  now;  she  felt  cold  as  death,  and 
her  slu'.nking  eyes  met  his  steadily  at  last. 

"I  liad  the  right  to  send  for  ^ou,  my  l«»rd — to  go  to  you, 
if  1  chose.     I  am  your  wife!" 

1I(^  listened  with  a  smile,  his  jiead  lying  against  the  back 
©t  the  chair — a  smile  of  insufferable  insoh  nee. 

"My  wife!"  he  rei/Cated.    "Well,  yes,  of  course,  we  did  §iQ 


I  :i 


|66    Now  I  Live,  Now  y  /  Life  is  Done! 

to  the  Church  of  St.  Etholfrida  topother  13ut,  my  deal 
Alice,  let  me  give  you  one  piece  of  advice — don't  you  pix^eume 
on  that  little  ceremony.  Don't  you  write  to  njo  a^ain,  and 
don't  visit  me  until  I  give  you  leave.  Perhaps  you  did  )iot 
hear  my  question — let  me  repeat  it — where  did  you  tijnl  i>at 
my  address?" 

"Your  brother  told  me." 

"My  brother!" 

He  startecl  at  the  words,  and  then,  for  the  first  tini*'.  Li? 
eyes  fell  upon  the  roses  on  the  table.     He  sprang  to  l»is  t''.<  t. 

"My  V  other  'as  been  here?"  he  cried. 

"Ho  h.     ' 

Slio  an.  Vi  red  '  im  quietly.  Her  heart  felt  cold  and  siill  In 
her  breast,  ■  :!.  o^e  had  no  intention  of  disturbing  him  with 
*'sconos  or  tears"  l      . 

He  strode  toward  her,  grasping  her  wrist  until  the  maiks 
of  liis  cruel  fingers  remained — his  face  white  to  the  very  lips, 
as  was  his  way  when  really  moved. 

"And  you  dared  do  it!  You  dared,  after  all  I  said,  bring 
him  here!    Guy,  of  all  men!    You  dare  tell  him " 

"I  told  him  nothing.  My  lord,  will  you  let  me  go?  You 
hurt  me!" 

H  J  dropped  his  hold,  looking  down  at  her  with  a  dangerous 
light  in  his  pale  blue  eyes. 

''How  came  he  here?  You  must  have  brought  hin,  or  ha 
never  would  have  found  you  out.  Tell  me  the  truth,  I  com- 
mand you." 

She  met  his  angry  gaze  with  a  calm  steadiness,  quite  new 
in  his  experience  of  her. 

''He  came  with  me  the  first  night.  You  rer  .ember  he  trav- 
eled up  with  me  from  Speckhaven.  He  was  very  kind;  he 
v;as  always  kind.  I  don't  know  wjiether  he  suspected  our 
secret  or  not.  I  know  he  advised  me  to  go  back  while  there 
was  yet  time." 

"I  wish  to  God  you  had  taken  his  advice !" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  still  very  quietly,  "it  is  a  pity.  But 
we  won't  speak  of  that,  since  it  is  rather  late  in  the  day  now. 
It  was  late  that  night  when  we  reached  London;  it  was  all 
strange  to  me;  and  I  was  afraid;  and  I  asked  him  to  come 
with  me  here." 

The  pressure  tightened  on  her  wrist*- again;  he  drev,-  his 
breath  for  a  moment  hard. 

"Vou  did!  After  all  your  promises — after  all  T  told  you— - 
you  ])rought  him  here !" 

"I  brought  him  here;  but  I  told  him  nothinsr  ar^c*  ^  -eve; 
laid  eyes  on  him  since  until  yesterday." 

*^«  was  here  yesterday  V* 


deal 

I,  and 
cl  not 
1(1  i>at 


Lie,    l»i? 

is  tVt't. 

s,iU\  iu 
m  with 

1,  bring 

)?    You 

ugeroua 

^.,  or  ha 
I  eom- 

lite  new 

Ihe  trav- 
Lind;  be 
;ted  our 
Ue  there 

ty.    13ut 

[ay  now. 

was  all 

[to  c<Mne 

Ivev  bis 

Id   VC!U— 


Now  I  Live  Vow  My  Life  is  Lionel    l^? 

r. 

"He  "was.  Frflnk.  do  'cu  know  th'>y  think  At  himiA  I  iit-u. 
with  him — that--tbat  1  ain — not  a  wife." 

"Yes;  I  hapiifii  to  ho  quito  awaro  of  that  faol;  and  whait  4 
more,  I  mean  tlicy  shall  continwe  to  tliink  so.  Hear  m©  oi^U 
if  you  please,  and  don't  intrrrupt.  Do  you  suppose  I  an» 
ffoing  to  ruin  my  prosj)(H*ts  i>y  acknowlodprin^  my  mnniaR'i 
with  you?  A  pretty  htory,  forsooth,  for  Bclgravia,  that  Loii* 
Montalien  has  married  his  bailiff's  danphterl" 

"Lord  Montalien  should  have  thought  of  that  seven  weeka 
airo. 

"I  know  it.  No  need  for  you  to  remind  me  what  a  fool  I 
have  been.  And  what  brought  my  precious  younge?  broihc^t 
hero  vest(>r(lay  ?" 

"Friendship.  Only  that.  Mr.  Guy  was  always  the  kinde.^i 
of  friends,  the  noblest  of  genth men.  He  t  .-•qpht  of  me— h-s 
broup:bt  me  thosp  flowers  from  Montalien,''  'ler  yyes  lightiBi;« 
"heeause  he  faneied  they  would  remind  m    of.  -  no." 

The  nobleman  seized  the  roses  and  tlun  i.  Ptca.  into  thA  firo. 
The  f-irl  staTted  forward  with  a  cry;  i,f  .le  ^'..i  struck  her  hi> 
would  hardly  have  done  a  more  brutal  thinj,. 

"Sil(  nee!"'  he  said,  with  an  oath.  "('  or  '  What  brougli 
him  hcre^    Did  you  dare  to  tell  him  thai  i- " 

"^I  told  him  nothing — ^nothing,  God  help  me!  I  have  keT< 
your  secret,  Lord  Montalien,  at  the  price  of  my  own  gooi 
name.  I  have  broken  my  mother's  heart,  bowed  my  father  4 
head  in  sorrow  and  shame,  g-iving  up  the  home  where  I  wai 
happy,  the  friends  who  cared  for  me,  for  you;  and  thia— thki 
is  my  reward." 

She  laid  her  arm  upon  the  mantel,  and  bowed  her  far>j(> 
upon  it.  Biit  in  the  dark  heart  of  the  man  beside  heff  the-  •:, 
was  neither  pity  nor  remorse. 

"Will  you  swear  to  me  my  brother  knows  nothing— 4Ji:>.a 
yoahavo  not  told  him?" 

"I  have  not  told  him,"  she  reiterated,  and  did  not  lift  hf '.. 
ashen  face  as  she  made  the  reply. 

He  turned,  and  began  pacing  to  and  fro  up  and  doTfni  th-i 
room.  He  wanted  to  shake  her  off,  to  have  done  with  her  ir-c 
good;,  to  get  her  out  of  the  country  even,  and  to  do  that»  Wii.J 
it  wise  to  goad  her  to  despair  and  desperation?  He  muert  iX^-^X 
rid  of  her — that  was  the  one  inevitable  thing  to  be  done;  ai  I 
to  get  rid  of  her  quietly,  without  scandal  or  exposure,  s  ' '. 
must  still  think  herself  his  wife.  The  time  to  tell  her  .-  i 
truth  had  not  yet  come.  He  must  get  rid  of  her^  and  at  or-'*  ; 
and  kindness  here  would  do  more  than  harshneflfi  or  ."^ecr  ■ 
ination.     He  came  owr  and  laid  his  hand  upon  iier  shoai  -     , 

"Forgive  me,  Alice,"  he  said,  "and  forget  n^  unkirio  t»  j  ■  . 
^on  know«  as  well  as  I  do*  that  I  lore  yim.  as  cb**'<riy  ?^  >?^ 


t  ■ 


»v 


|68    Now  !  Live,  Now  My  Life  is  Done! 

that  I  did  not  moan  thcni ,  but  I  am  out  of  sorts  and  ou^  o^ 
tomi)or  to-day.  I  have  a  thousand  t hinges  to  worry  and  annoy 
mj  of  which  you  cannot  droam;  and  it  did  startle  mo  to  know 
'luy  was  hero.  I  am  sorry  I  destroyed  your  flowers.  I  shall 
send  you  a  handsome  l>ou<|uet  to-morrow,  (.^omc,  look  Up, 
and  say  ve  are  friends  apain." 

She  lifted  her  head  slowly  and  looked  at  him.  Even  he,  bad 
to  the  core,  harder  than  iron,  shifted  from  the  night  of  set- 
tled despair  in  those  haggard  eyes. 

"Do  what  you  will,  say  what  you  will,  Frajik,  I  can  never 
be  other  than  your  friend." 

Her  voice  was  broken  and  low,  no  tinge  of  color  came  to 
her  white  face  as  he  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

She  knew  the  end  had  come — her  heart  never  beat  with 
hope  while  she  lived  again. 

"That  is  my  own  little  Alice!  And  now,  to  prevent  a  rei>e- 
titicn  of  such  visits,  you  nmst  leave  this  lodging  at  once." 

"Ye3." 

"This  very  evening  I  will  engage  another,  and  to-morrow  I 
will  send  a  cab  for  you  and  your  belongings.  Early  to- 
morrow evening  you  will  ha  quite  ready  to  go?" 

"Yes." 

"And  as  it  can't  be  any  i)nrticular  pleasure  to  me  to  keep 
moving  you  about  from  one  London  lodging  to  another,  for 
-fear  of  detection,  what  do  you  say  to  going  down  to  the 
country,  or  even  out  of  England  for  a  little.  You  would  be 
better  and  happier,  I  am  sure.  You  are  used  to  a  country 
life,  and  I  would  come  to  see  you  just  as  often.  What  do  you 
say  ?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  say.    I  will  do  whatever  you  please." 

"That  is  settled,  then." 
.    He  was   delighted   with  her   easy   acquiescence.     Nothing 
would  be  simpler  than  to  send  her  out  of  the  country  alto- 
gether and  for  good.  •  '../.*! 

"To-morrow  you  will  leave  here,  and  within  the  week  you 
shall  go  to  some  pleasant  country  home,  either  in  or  o^t  of 
England,  where  you  will  remain  until  it  is  in  my  power  to 
proclaim  you  to  the  world  as  my  wife.    You  hear,  Alice?" 

"I  hear,"  she  answered,  wearily.  "Frank!"  she  looked  up 
at  him  suddenly,  "is  it  true  that  Paulina  Lisle  is  in  Lon- 
don?" 

"Guy  told  you  that  among  his  other  news,  I  suppo-r^?" 

"He  did.  lie  told  me,  too,  that  you  were  her  lover,  or  tlint 
report  said  so." 

"He  told  you  a  lie!    I  visit  at  the  lumse  of  Sir, Vane  Char 
teris,  and  I  see  Miss  Lisle,  of  course.       He  spoke  cai-rfessly 
enough*  but  in  his  heart  he  recorded  a  vow  to  add  this  te  the 


Now  I  live.  Now  My  U^p  is  }^'^ne\    169 


••.por    )rolher.     "I 


and  lell  her 


V.  lio  I  was  «'oiiig  to 
Yen   knew    -\\o  v/as 


i./ng  list  of  hatrf'd  he  nlronrly  ownrl  Hi;    yi;: 

meant,  to  speak  to  .yoii  of  hor    Wliy  did  you 

of  your  c'lopcnirnt  and  intondod  inarrijifrf  '        nd  nil  my  in 

.iiincti(»ns  of  socreoy  niid   yruii    ^lr(•llli■^(•.      -A  i.s  it   will  dom- 

AiiceT  ,  ^ 

"1  meant  no  harm.     I  did  u<A  fell  iicj 
marry." 

"But  you  knew  she  would  Kuspect. 
'Uvare  how  prently  I  always  admired  yon.  luit  I  overlook  it, 
Alice — tliat  arid  all  (he  rest— and  look  forward  to  the  day 
wjien  1  can  proclaim  you  to  the  world  as  iuy  lawful  wife. 
And  now,  farewell.  To-morrow  afternooii,  at  this  time,  I  will 
'isit  you  at  your  new  lodpinp." 

His  lips  touched  h^T  forehead  in  another  traitor  ki^s,  and 
then  the  door  opened  and  closed,  and  he  was  •j:one.  Gone! 
\nd  Alice,  sitting  there  alone  hefore  the  fire,  knew  her  fate — 
kn'^w  in  her  heart  that  he  lied  to  her — 'that  he  woui<l  never 
proclaim  her  as  his  wife — that  hope  was  at  an  end,  ihat  her 
life  was  done.  She  touched  no  food,  she  had  no  sleep  that 
'.if^ht.  She  lay  listening  to  the  heating  rain,  to  the  com- 
plaining wind,  to  the  hours  as  they  tolled,  in  a  sort  of  dull 
stni)or  of  misery.  She  had  loved  him,  she  loved  him  still,  and 
this  was  the  end. 

The  cah  eaine  early  next  morning  for  "Mrs.  Brown.'' 

Before  leaving  the  previous  day  his  lordship  had  paid  the 
l.mdlady,  and  told  h<'r  of  her  lodger's  d«>parture.  And  now, 
in  the  dark  Xcveniher  nmrning,  she  watched  her  drive  away 
almost  with- regret. 

"She  looko'l  like  death  itself  as  she  hade  me  good-hy,"  Mrs. 
Howe  said  afterward;  "it  we, it  to  my  heart  only  to  see  her.'* 

The  new  lodging  to  which  the  enhiiian  dr'sve  her  was  in  one 
of  the  obscure  streets  leading  from  the  Strand  to  the  river — 
dingier,  poorer,  closer  than  that  which  she  had  left.  But  she 
scarcely  noticed  how  scinnlid  it  was,  scarcely  noticed  how  un- 
utterahly  wretclied  she  herself  looked. 

"What  does  it  matter,"  she  thought,  turning  away  from  the 
^dass,  "since  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  (o  care?" 

And  then  she  lay  down,  and  the  dull,  gnav.-ing,  ceaseless 
pain  at  her  heart  seemed  somehow  to  go,  and  in  its  place  her 
lia])py  girlhood  came  hack.  ^  The  dark,  wretched  room,  the 
foggy  daylight  faded  away,  once  more  the  j!^reen  fields  of 
Montalicn,  rich  with  goldoi  corn,  the  meadows  sweet  with 
tl'e  seoKe  of  .new-mown  hay,  the  voiee  of  her  mother,  the  wav- 
ing trees,  the  golden  sumn  er  sky,  all  eame  Vvack  to  her;  and 
Francis  Earlscourt's  eyes  looked  love,  and  his  voice  spoke 
Boftly  and  sweetlj*  and  Ma  strong  arm  encircled  her  waist; 


170    Now  !  Live,  Now  My  Life  is  Done! 

» 

oii'l  her  pyf's  rlosr>d,  nnd  witli  Hie  smilo  of  n  happy  child  oi 
her  fiu'f,  sho  fell  iislerp. 

Sho  slept  for  hours.  Tin*  aftornoon  wore  on — tho  roar  of 
tho  jiieat  c'i^-,  of  the  busy  Strand,  worn  uiihoanl  h'voii  tlip 
op<'niii;4'  of  tlic  door,  i\m\  the  oiitraiico  of  tho  man  of  whom 
she  drcnnu'd,  failed  to  arousp  her. 

lie  lookcrl  Mt  her,  as  slu^  slept,  witluiuf  one  feelinp  of  pify 
for  tho  heart  he  had  broken,  for  the  life  ho  hud  blighted,  lb' 
}iiad  tired  of  her,  and  he  must  remove  her  out  of  tho  counlry 
that  ho  miMht  marry  Paulina  Lisle.  Nf)thing  remained  nou- 
but  that. 

While  ho  stood  irresolute  whether  or  no  to  awaken  hii\ 
there  was  a  taj)  at  tho  door,  and  the  landlady,  with  a  startle- 
fae(\  looked  in. 

"If  you  i)lense,  sir,  and  askinp  your  i)ardon  for  dij*tur)»inii 
of  you  an(l  your  jijood  lady,  would  you  eome  upstair--^  ju>t  a 
moment?  The  third-floor-front'i*  a-dyin^:i:.  and  a-dyin^  ijard 
and  he  says  he  can't  so  until  ho  has  made  his  confession. 
There  ain't  a  soul  in  the  house  to  ro  for  the  j)araon  or  doctor 
and  I  daren't  leave  him  alone.  Would  you  lie  so  ffood,  kii)  I 
gentleman,  as  to  step  up  to  his  room  while  1  ruu  f©r  the  neai- 
est  c'lers-yman  ?" 

The  "kind  genrleman"  addressed  stared  at  her  haughtily  in 
amazement  at  her  presumptuous  request.  What  was  her 
"third-lloor-front"  to  him,  dying  though  its  inmate  might  I'l', 
that  He  should  trouble  himself  in  the  matter. 

"lie  siiys  he  has  a  confession  to  make  about  some  v(M-y 
great  lady  he  knew  once,  and  about  a  great  crime  he  heli)ed 
to  commit  nearly  twenty  years  ago.  Ho  can't  die,  he  sa>-, 
until  he  has  confessed  it.  Maybe  it's  only  his  raving,  but  !;•' 
says  the  lady's  name  was  Miss  Olivia  Lyndith." 

Lord  Montalien  swung  round,  amazed,  interested  at  once. 

"Miss  Olivia  I.yndith,"  he  muttered.  "Lady  Charteri>! 
Now  wdiat  the  deuce  does  this  mean?  Lead  the  way,  my 
good  woman;  I'll  go  up,  and  hear  what  your  third-lloor-froni; 
has  to  say." 

He  followed  her  up  the  dark,  winding  stairs,  and  into  tho 
stifling  attic  rooni,  where,  on  a  wretched  truckle-bed,  a  gau!i'. 
eniaciated  form  was  stretched.    Therenvas  no  fire  in  the  liiil 
room,  and  th.    sickly,  foggy  daylight  hardly  found    its  way 
through  the  blurred,  dirty  glassi  of  its  one  window. 

•'TTero  is  a  kind  gentleman,  as  says  he  will  stay  with  you, 
Porter,''  the  landlady  siaid,  soothingly.  "Now  do  keep  qui'^'. 
like  a  good  soul,  and  I'll  run  round  for  Mr.  Spearmnii." 

She  placed  a  chair  by  the  bedside,  and  w^s  hurrying^away, 
but  the  sick  man  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  called  after 
her  shrilly : 


first    h 

with— 1 

"Rob 

The 

delight. 

"Tha; 
he  (     ( •; 

''Not 

ble  to   t 

"He 

Air.  (if, 
Hght  h: 
I^ut  I'll 


I  i 


Now  !  Live,  Now  My  Life  is  Done!    171 

""Fetch  pon  nnd  ink  nnci  pnper,  Mrs.  Vnuiiff.  TTo  niiint 
write  it  down  and  give  it  to  lier  if  flie  ho  alive.  T  can't  die, 
1  can't,  with  the  ntory  untold.  I'm  sorry  T  ever  did  it.  I  yee 
her  face  so  8till  nnd  white;  oh,  Lord!  fto  still  and  whiti— 
slet'i-inK  ;nid  wakinjc.  ni^ht  and  day  forever.  Voji'll  \\rite  it 
(jowFi,  sir;  you  l(«ok  like  n  p:entleman,  nnd  you'll  find  h.  r,  nnd 
irive  it  to  her,  if  she's  alive.     IVoinisc  tnc  that 'r' 

lie  ghired  up  in  J.ord  Montalien's  face  with  hollow,  wild 


fcves. 


« 


T  don't  know   of  whom  you're  talking,  my  ^ood-  fellow 


»» 


his  lordship  answered,  <*rif»lly.    "Who  is  she?' 

"'i'wenty  years  a^^o  her  name  was  Mins  Olivia  Lyndith. 
She  married  Sir  Vane  Chartcris,  haronet.  You're  a  .ir«'ntle« 
/nan — perhaps  you  hnve  heard  of  Sir  Vnne  Chnrtoris?*'  Hii 
liollovv  eyes  wero  full  f  hurniji^c  ea^t-rness  a^  he  asked  the 
(iiKistion. 


'Well,  yes,  T  have  heard  of  Sir  Vane  riiartfri? 
'And  Lady  Charteris? 


M 


»> 


» 


wt 


'And   Lndy  (^harteri' 

*ls  she  alive?     Tell  me  that — is  Ladv  Charteris  nlive,  and 

ll?" 

"Lady  Charteris  is  alive  certainly,  hut  not  quite  well.  Slift 
has  had  some  preat  trouble  in  her  pa«l  life,  which  -^hc  hap 
never  ^ot  over  to  this  day.'' 

'rh(?  sick  man  wruti^'-  his  hamls  in  a  ]>nro\ysm  ..f  aimnisli. 

"f  know  it — r  know  it!  and  I  did  it!  T  v.i-h  1  )i;m1  dropped 
(lend  1)(  foi'c  I  ever  cons(nte(l!  and  now  I  am  dyiii^.  and  her 
t'a<e  haunts  me  ni^ht  and  day.  l^nt  she's  alive,  and  it's  not 
too  late  yet.     Perhaps  he'^J  alive  too." 

"Who?" 

"Wvv  husband-  liim  that  she  loved  so  dcnrly." 

"You  mean  Sir  Vane  Cliarteris,  T  presume?" 

110 !     She    hated    him!     T    mean    the    other — her 

e    ran   away 


no. 


firf^t    husband — her    real    husband- -him    that    sh 
with— Robert  Lisle." 


'Robe it  Lisle  is  nlive  nnd  well. 


Tl 


le  (.    niir   man    uttered    a   crv — a   s 


brill. 


(11 


wordless   civ  (j1 


ere  is 


(leliojit. 

"TliaidvCod!    thank  CJod!    then  it's  not  too  late  T     Wh 
he?     Can  you  tell  me  that?      Xot  in   Ki;frland^" 

"Not  in  Knjrland,  of  c(»ur'.'e,  since  he  i<  o  c^injinal  .nueua- 
blc  to  tlic  law.     Out  in   Am«M'ii'a." 

'Mlo  is  Iff)  criiTiinnl.  It  was  me  that  did  it  hi,'!  \<\<\ 
Air.  (it'otricy  Lyndith  {;nid  me  for  doiutr  it.  f  wis)-  my 
ri^ht  hantl  b:ui  droi>ped  off  when  I  lifted  it  airainst  him  I 
But  1*11  tell  you  all,  and  you'll  writ*  it  dowii.   and  Robert 


I     i 


r 


J72    Now  I  Live,  Now  My  Life  is  Done! 

Lisle- will  conio  bnck.  and  porliaps  Ood  will  forg-ive  rue.  Dq 
you  think  Ih'  will,  if   [   confess  ail — all  (" 

"Well — let  us  ho))o  so,"  roi'lii'i]  his  lordship,  rather  out  of 
his  depth.     "Who  are  you,  to  ucfvin  with  f 

Tie  drew  tlie  jjuper  toward  liiiu,  toi^k  up  the  jx'U,  and 
prepared  to  write,  IFe  was  full  ol"  (niri.)sity  and  interest. 
What  revelation  of  villainy  was  this  he  was  ahout  to  hear? 

"I'm  Jaines  Porter,  and  '  was  valet  to  Mr.  Oeoti'rey  Lyii- 
dith  twenty  years  a^'o.  Will  you  jjroniise,  on  your  houijr 
as  a  jrentlenian,  to  ^ivo  this  paper  yo\i  are  j.?oinf^  to  wrih; 
into  the  hands  of  Laviy  Charter  is,  and  no  other,  wlien  I  aiu 
deadr 

*;f  p.'o!:iist».     Cio  on." 

The  sick  man  cleneluMl  tlie  bedclothes,  and  began  at  one*  . 
with  feverish  rapidity: 

"I  told  you  I  was  Mr.  (Jeoffrey  Lyndith's  valet  twenty 
years  ij^o.  It's  ni^her  on  five-and-tvventy  since  I  first  en- 
tered his  service,  and  a  very  j?ood  place  it  was.  lie  was  a 
st<»rn  man,  he  liked  to  have  his  own  way,  but  he  was  fret- 
with  his  money,  and  a  kind  enijugii  master.  Whi-n  I  had 
been  with  liim  well  upon  four  years,  Robert  Lisle  came  as 
secretary  and  companion  like.  1  can  see  him  now!''  The 
sick  man's  eyes  looked  dreamily  before  him,  as  he  spoke. 
"A  tall,  well-nnide  youn^-  man,  and  the  handsomest.  I  think, 
I  ever  saw.  There  were  a  ^reat  nmny  gentlemen,  and  baro- 
nets, and  lords,  used  to  visit  Lyndith  C(jurt  at  September 
and  Christmas,  but  there  wasn't  one  amonfr  them,  lords  and 
all,  looked  half  as  lordly,  to  my  mind,  as  he  did.  He  was 
cleverer  than  master,  and  wrote  his  spe(?ehes  and  headers  for 
our  county  paper,  and  letters,  and  all  that.  Master  set  no 
end  of  store  by  him,  until  he  g-ot  to  hate  him;  and  to  them 
he  hated,  he  was  the  very  devil! 

"Master's  niece  came  home  from  school:  and  a  rare  beauty 
she  w^as,  only  sixteen,  with  big  black  eyes"  and  yellow  hair — 
the  kind  of  beauty  you  don't  often  see.  She  was  brought 
home  from  boarding-school  to  live  in  the  house  with  a  young 
njan  as  handsome  and  as  clever  as  this  Mr.  Lisle.  And  w« 
in  the  servants'  hall  just  saw  how  it  would  be  from  the  first. 
But  master — lawks,  sir,  it's  wonderful  how  blind  the  smart- 
est people  be  about  some  things;  these  sort  of  things  par- 
tieularlv — master  he  was  like  a  nxde.  They  were  a-eourt- 
ing  from  the  first  day,  and  he  couldn't  see  what  was  goiriir 
on  under  his  very  nose.  I  used  to  watch  'em  in  the  pleasaii* 
mooidiirht  nights  walking  up  and  down  under  the  trees;  an»i 
time  'i!i  1  agaiTi  it  was  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  to  give  Mr. 
Lyndith  a  hint,  liut  I  was  a-keeping  company  with  a  youn^ 
woman— -the    m^por   housemaid    she    was,    and   she  wouldn'' 


ne. 


Do 


r  out  of 

icu,  and 
iiitorf'^L 
to  hear? 
roy  Lyii- 
ir  lionor 
to  write 
eii  I   am 


at  oner, 

t  twenty 
first  eu- 

le  was  a 
was  free 

en  I  h:vl 
came  as 


w: 


v 


The  • 

ht'  spoke. 
.  r  think, 
and  haro- 
"'eptonduM- 
ords  and 
lie  was 
idors  for 
r  set  no 
to  them 

ivi'  heauty 
uw  hair- 
brought 
1  a  younf? 
And  WH 
the  first, 
he  smart- 
lings  par- 
e  a-eourt- 
wa>  goiii^-- 
pleasai ' 
trees;  an<i 
give  Mr. 
,h  a  youn^ 
!  wouldn' 


Mow  I  Live,  Now  My  Life  is  Done!    17 J 

hear  tolT  of  i4.  All  the  wonien  in  the  liou:-;-  were  half  in 
love  with  this  Kol)ert  J. isle;  his  good  looks,  and  his  gontlfe- 
manlike  ways,  and  his  pleasant  voiee  took  them  all  clown 
sor  ^liow.  *And,'  say.-.  Lucy,  'our  master's  old  enough  and 
big  enough  to  look  after  liis  own  niece,  and  it's  not  for 
playing  the  spy  on  her  you  get  your  wages.  Jle'll  find  it 
out  soon  enough.' 

"That  week  ^Mi^s  Oliviii  wc^it  to  Scotland  on  a  visit,  and 
tlie  week  after — I  think  it  was — Mr.  IJslo  followed  her. 
And  Lucy  says  to  me:  'Mind,  James,  Miss  Olivia  and  Mr. 
Lisle  w'ill  he  married  in  Scotland  a<  sure  as  I'm  talking  to 
you.  And  won't  master  be  tearing  mad,  wlieu  he  finds  it 
out?'^ 

V'ou  see,  &ir,  this  Mr.  Lisle,  though  he  looked  and  spoke, 
and  had  the  education  f>f  a  real  gentl(M.nan,  \\as  only  the  son 
of  a  yeonuin  farmer. 

"Well,  sir,  Liu-y  was  right — they  did  get  married  in  Scot- 
land, and  came  home,  not  together,  imt  following  each  other 
very  soon.  And  to  this  day  I  remeinlx  r  what  happy,  happy 
faces  those  two  had,  how  miss  danced  about  the  house  like 
•-unshine,  and  her  laugh  was  the  prettiest,  sweetest  music  I 
ever  heard.  And  Mr.  Lisle  didn't  say  much  or  laugh  nnich, 
it  wasn't  his  way;  but  somehr)w,  he  looked  taller,  and  nobler, 
and  handsomer  than  ever,  and  his  pleasant  eyes  seemed  smil- 
ing for  very  joy  whenever  they  looked  at  you.  And  miss 
begged  hard  not  to  be  sent  back  to  school,  but  to  stay  at  the 
'dear  old  court,'  as  she  called  it;  and  her  uncle,  who  was 
fond  of  her  in  his  way,  consented.  And  for  four  months 
more  they  went  on  together,  and  he  neither  saw  nor  guessed 
a   word  of  what  every  rme  els<?  in  the  house  knew  ixrfectly. 

"fJut  it  couldn't  go  on  so  forever;  he  found  it  out  at  last. 
He  never  said,  a  word;  that  wasn't  his  s<.rt;  he  just  v;hisked 
liis  niece  away  from  Staffordshire  without  a  word  to  any 
one.  And  wh.'n  he  came  back  alone,  still  ])leasant  and  ea^^y, 
lie  sent  for  me,  and  a>l<ed  uk-  if  1  v.-ould  like  to  enrii  five 
hundred   pounds? 

"You  may  guess  what  my  answ(  r  was.  1  was  always  f(,nd 
of  money,  and  1  wanted  to  marry  Lucy,  and  set  up  a  public; 
when  I'd  saved  money  enough.  I  would  liave  done  a  good 
f'eal  for  half  or  quartf  r  the  money;  but  I  <b.  refuse  at  first 
wlien^he  told  me  what  he  wanted  me  to  do.  lie  made  me 
take  my  book  oath  nc'ver  to  speak  of  whit  |)asse(|  between 
us  while  I  livofb  and  I  tof>k  it.  I  never  bioke  that  oath  till 
!iow  but  I  can't-- oh,  good  Lonll— I  c:,n't  die  with  my 
wicked  story  untold! 

"He  told  me  Ilobert  Lisle  had  nwrric'd  his  niece  in  Sccjt- 
iand,  and  that  Sir  Vane  Charteris,  to  whom  she  had  bt^n 


174    Now  !  Live,  Now  My  Life  is  Done! 

eng-aged  since  slie  was  fourteen,  would  hold  him  responsible 
A  Scotch  marriage  was  no  marriage,  he  said,  but  the  law 
couldn't  prove  that  without  the  ])ublic  exposure  of  his  niece, 
an4  that  Sir  Vane  wouhj  never  hear  of.  Robert  Lisle  must 
just  be  got  quietly  out  of  the  country  for  good  and  all,  and 
Miss  Livy  married  to  the  baronet  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
peneo ;  and  I  was  to  help  him  to  do  it. 

"That  night  he  would  place,  in  my  prest«ce  and  in  Lisle's, 
a  sum  of  money  and  a  quantity  of  valuable  jewels  in  the 
little  safe  in  his  library,  leaving  them  in  Mr.  Lisle's  charge, 
and  going  away  himself  as  if  for  a  few  days'  absence.  Anil 
when  he  was  gone,  ho  would  write  a  letter,  as  if  coming 
from  jVli?^s  Olivia,  asking  her  husband  to  come  to  hnr  at 
once.  He  would  go  for  certain,  and  take  his  portmanteau 
with  him.  And  what  he  wanted  me  to  do,  and  would  pay 
me  five  hundred  pounds  to  do,  was  to  take  the  money  and 
jewels  out  of  the  safe,  and  se\V  them  up  carefully  in  the 
lining  of  Mr.  Lisle's  portmanteau.  They  would  be  found 
there,  and  the  threat  of  transportation  would  make  him  tly 
the  country.  And  he  gave  me  the  duplicate  key  of  the 
safe. 

"Well,  sir — it's  a  bad  thing  to  tell — I  did  it.  I  took  thft 
five  hundred  pounds,  and  I  sewed  up  the  money  and  jewels 
ill  the  poor  young  gentleman's  traveling  bag.  It  all  turned 
out  as  masirr  had  foreseen — he  got  the  letter,  he  pack.vi  his 
clothes,  and  started  for  London,  and  he  was  taken  then^ 
and  searched,  and  the  valuables  found. 

"The  next  I  heard,  he  had  left  England.  I  got  my  iivc 
hundred  pounds — my  wages  of  sin — and  I  left  Mr.  Lynditli's 
service,  and  married  Lucy,  and  set  up  the  public-house.  But 
T  never  prospered.  Luck  went  against  me  from  the  first. 
The  money  was  ill-gotten;  it  was  blood-money — and  every- 
thing went  wrong.  I  couldn't  forget  what  I  had  done,  li 
haunted  mo  as  if  I  had  committed  a  murder,  by  day  ami 
night.  I  took  to  drink  to  drown  thought,  but  I  couldn't 
drown  it.  I  knew  I  had  made  two  innocent  people  miserabl  ■ 
fcr  life.  And  two  years  after  our  marriage  Lucy  died;  ^n  1 
then  I  got,  quite  desperate,  and  the  money  went,  and  went  . 
and  at  last  1  was  ruiyed  outright.  And  from  that  day  i 
have  been  a  drunken  vagrant,  and  now  I'm  dying  bore,  an! 
I  couldn't  die  with  it  on  my  soul.  IT-^^-?  you  got  »it  all 
down— all— all  ?" 

ITo  raised  himself  once  more  on  his  elbow,  looking  mo;.; 
like  a  galvanized  corpse  than  a  living  being. 

"i\ll,"  replied  Lord  Montalien-.  "Are  you  able  to  sign 
this  paper?" 

"I'll  try — give  me  the  p«n." 


brcast- 
ciitliko 


Lady 

t'    six 
Yes, 


Now  I  Live,  Now  My  Life  is  Donel     175 

Tho  <lo(tr  oponed  on  the  word,  and  Mrs.  Young,  the  land- 
lady, tntcrcd  with  an  elderly  nuni,  a  clerj2:yirian. 

'Sfuist  in  time  to  witi>o<!s  this  man's  si<rnature,"  renmrkod 
iiis  IdixUhip,  coolly.  ''He  is  dyinj;-,  h(>  says."  addressinjj:  the 
i!(  rgyiiian,  "and  has  made  a  iloposition  whioh  1  have  taken 
down.  Will  you  just  witness  iiis  signature,  and  atlix  vour 
;.wnr' 

It  was  done.  Lord  ^fontalien  folded  uj)  tlie  paper,  and 
arose. 

''Your  wishes,  my  poor  fellow,  shall  be  carried  out  to  the 
letter.  The  lady  for  whom  it  is  designed  is  known  to  niv, 
and  will  receive  it  at  once.  Set  your  mind  at  rest  about 
that." 

Ke  quitted  the  room,  the  precious  i)aper  in  the 
p..eket  of  his  coat,  his  eyes  shining  with  a  jireen, 
light.  ^  ... 

"And  so  Paulina  Lisle  is  the  elder  daughter  of 
Charterif*;  and  inherits  in  law  my  lady's  foi-tune  < 
tliousand  a  year  in  addition  to  her  father's  fortune, 
yes!  If  I  had  never  made  the  resolution  of  marrying  her, 
willing  or  unwilling,  I  would  wtike  it  now.  Why,  she  will 
be  one  of  the  richest  heiresses  in  the  United  Kingdom! 
Whether  you  like  it  or  no,  you  shall  be  my  wife,  my  peer- 
less Paulina !" 

And' then  a  vision  rose  before  him  of  Paulina  as  he  had 
seen  her  last  night — shining  like  a  fai'ry,  in  pink  silk,  and 
tulle  puffir'fs,  and  dewy  rosebuds  in  her  golden  hair — a 
vision  whose  very  recollection  seemed  to  light  up  the  dingy 
lodging-house  in  Harton  street,  Strand. 

"And  now  for  the  other,"  he  thought,  opening  Alice's  door 
— alas!  poor  Alice!  "What  an  inconceivable  ass  I  have 
made  of  myself  about  this  milk-and-water,  insi))id,  weeping? 
nonentity!  But  she  sliall  be  disposed  of  as  surely  ar.<l  safely 
as  Geoffrey  Lyndith  disposed  of  Robert  Lisle." 

She  sat  shivering  before  the  smoldering  fire  as  he  entered, 
and  rose  up  without  a  word  as  he  approached. 

The  dull  daylight  was  fast  fading  now,  but  in  the  glow  of 
the  fire  he  could  see  the  dead  whiteness  of  her  face;  such  a 
contrast  to  that  other  face — fresh,  smiling,  rose-crowned! 

"Awake,  Alice?"  he  said,  kindly.  "It  is  two  hours  since 
I  first  came,  and  you  were  ash^^p  on  the  lounge  yonder,  arid 
I  would  n(jt  distjrb  you.  I  have  been  sitting  since  with  a 
wretched   sick  nuin,  upstairs." 

She  looked  'ind  listened  in  pale  amaze.  Frank  Earlscourt 
!-:lting  two  hours  with  a  sick  pauper! 

"F  trust  I  see  you  in  better  spirits  than  yesterday,"  he 
went  on.    "How  do  you  like  your  new  lodgiiigs  ?" 


•r 


176    Now  I  Live,  Now  My  Life  is  DoneP 

"I  havo  not  tliouf^ht  about  it.     Tliey  are  very  well." 

llcr  t;piritleas  voice,  her  spiritless  attitude,  told  moit. 
plaiidy  than  words  the  story  of  her  er-'-hed  Ih^miI. 

"Yoii  will  remain  here  quietly  for  the  present;  and  if  I 
should  not  \k',  able  to  eonie  to  you  as  often  as  you — as  I  my- 
s<lf  would  like,  you  must  promise  me  to  he  pat-enl — not  to 
write  ii>  ;ne  a^aiii.     You  promise  this,  Ali(!e^" 

"1  promise." 

"Of  course,  1  don't  like  to  see  you  unhappy  or  solitary  or 
that;  hut,  unfortunntely,  in  ou;  position,  it  '.s  inevitable.  I 
havo  made  a  tremendous  suer  Ifiee  for  you.  Don't  be  less 
generous.  Make  this  sacrifice  for  me.  Wait  until  I  giva 
you  leave  to  speak.     You  understand,  Alice?" 

"I  understand."  .    , 

She  answered  him  as  an  automaton  migh^,  never  lookinj^ 
up  from  the  fading  fire. 

"And  you  will  obey?" 

"1  will  obey  " 

"On  no  account  must  yon  admit  my  brother  or  Sledman, 
or  any  of  the  people  we  know.  Go  (mt  as  little  :.^  possible, 
and  when  you  do  ^o  out,  wear  a  thick  veil.  In  it  lew  weeks, 
at  most,  I  will  find  you  a  pleasant  eountiy  home,  where  you 
will  wait,  in  peace  and  comfort,  until  I  cun  1  inj^  you  for- 
ward acs — as  Lady  IVIontalien!  You  j)hMlge  yourself  to  all 
this,  Alice,  and  you  will  try  not  tt)  feel  lofuly  and  low- 
spirited  ?" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  face  for  tl.'  cond  time  since 
his  entrance — such  ho»K''ess,  hopeUss  eye.*. 

"I  will  try,"  she  answc  >;  ^n  a  voice  more  mournful  than 
death. 

"Then,  g'oo<l-by,  Alice,  ivvt-p  up  your  spirits,  an<l  don't 
be  discouraged  if  1  shouldn't  ^)e  n^ve  again  for  a  couple  of 
we(^ks.  Trust  me  that  I  will  come  as  soon  as  I  can. 
(;()od-by." 

"(Jo')d-by."  She  said  it  as  mechanically  as  the  rest,  n(jl 
etirring-.  Ife  put  on  his  hat,  opened  the  door,  turned,  came 
back,  stooped  and  kissed  her.  For  the  last,  the  only  time,  a 
IKUig  of  compnssion  touched  his  heart  of  stone. 

"My  poor  little  Alice!"  he  said;  "good-by." 

And  (hen  he  was  goii(\  Back  to  tlint  bright  othei-  world—- 
back  to  the  velvet-hung,  wax-lit  world,  wliere  lovely  Paulina 
Lisle  shone  a  queen!  And  Alice  stood  where  he  had  left. 
her,  neither  .  tirring  m-r  moving  for  hours  and  hours.  An 
<n"+cast—  from  iiome,  from  parents,  from  friends,  from  lo^c-- 
alone  lovever  and  :/ .1. 


♦'■^- 


'3|: 


•  x- 


X.  C'lIAI'TKlt    \T 

\r    iU{i(;iiTuN. 

On  ,  day  snccccfliivL'  lliis  nicii;4»ialilc  second  ol'  Xovctu- 
ber,  Sir  Vane  ( "li;irlcri>  took  his  fmnily  («»  l{rij^lituii  to  spend 
the  reniain(U'r  of  the  :iutiini!i.  lie  hud  hired  a  hir«-e  I'ur- 
iiislu'd' houso  on  the  Mast  (Mill".  The  situation  was  eharniin/j: 
-the  hroad,  hri^ht  sea  spread  a\vay  and  away  until  it 
melted  into  the  hroad  hrij-'ht  >l<y.  On  vei-y  i-h'ar  days  you 
saw  the  hohl  eoast  of  Dieppe  from  tlie  windows,  and  tlui 
Chain  Tier  jiiinmierinj^'  in  llie  fro^tv  Xovemher  sunshine 
helow   the  (Mitf. 

Miss  Lish',  for  whose  henetil  lh<'  rennval  had  ehielly  heeii, 
(•n.joy«Ml  liri«ihf(;ii  anmzin^Iy  In  the  lir-^i  phiee,  there 'wat< 
the  sea,  and  Paulina  loved  the  sea,  pu!^i,i!>  forever  ihrou^li 
the  still  chill  air,  there  were  lonj^  canter^  ovi-r  the  j^ojdeii 
Sussex  Downs,  until  the  younf"-  lady'^  eyes  .-,1  one  like  dia- 
monds, and  the  usually  pale  cheeks  like  Au^u  t  i-oses. 

There  were  the  pleasant  sunny  afternoop^,  when  in  tho 
most  ravishing  of  Parisian  toilet--  she  loiten-d  alon^  tho 
l)arade,  listeuiii^  to  the  Iwuid,  and  the  airy,  gallant  n(<thl'!i^s 
of  sundry  officers  (luartercd  at  the  liri^hton  P>arracks.  She 
drove  to  the  Dike,  in  the  loveliest  little  turnout,  with  creatn- 
colored  highsteppers,  for  which  her  ^Miardian  had  ^iven  a 
most  fabulous  price  at  Tattersall's,  handlinj^-  the  rihhons 
like  "P'our-in-Hand  r'osshrof)k"  himself,  to  the  admiration  of 
all  beholders.  She'^vas  the  chief  aim  for  all  the  lor^niettes  s;t 
the  pretty  little  theatre;  and  she  v.'Ont  ni^ht  after  nighi  t'> 
the  Pavilion,  where  Patti  wa^ioiow  enchant ing^he  P)rightou 
world.  She  went  through  the  whole  cour-  of  Hri^^htori 
amusements — dining,  dancing,  i>romenading  leatre-going — 
and  she  never  grew  \ve»ary;  her  bright  ey 
nor  her  smiles  faded. 

And  so  Miss  Lisle  was  fairly  lumched  u 
of  soeiet.v,  for  which  she  had  been  made, 
one  drawback  to  all  this  blissful  <^njoy! 
lien,  her  ogre,  who  persisted  in  escortin>,  them  everywhere,, 
on  being  the  eoni])anion  of  her  gallops  over  the  downs^  her 
drives,  her  v  alks,  and  hanging  on  the  back  of  her  chair  at 
the  theatre  all  the  evening  long.  He  was  at  the  baronet's 
lioui?e  by  night  and  day;  ho  dined  invariably  with  the  family 
whenever  they  dined  at  home,  atid  half  worrie«l  Paulina  into 
a  fever  with,  the  zeal  and  oppression  of  hi  devotion.  ]*eo- 
ple  began  to  link  their  names  together. 

Montali^n  was  a  shrewd  fellow—always  liked  money,  and 


% 


never  dinuned 

n  tlie  sunny  sea 

There   was   only 

it — Lord    Monta- 


178 


At  Brighton. 


ho  was  ffoinp:  in  for  Miss  Lisle.  Doueed  deep  iellow,  a 
miser  at  liQart,  not  a  bit  like  the  Karlscourts — a  sliahh)* 
he^KHr,  too,  at  bottoirt*— it  was  d  pity  >o  glorious  a  fjrirl 
slioiild  i)e  fluii;^  away  iiptni  siiclj  a  cad! 

At  the  close  of  the  second  week  Miss  Lisle  herself  rebelled 
She  had  lx^e*i  tryin,sr  for  days  back  to  throw  otf  the  yok(,, 
but  ill  vain;  there  was  a  <iuiet  power  and  determination 
about  his  lerdship  that  bent  most  jHiople  to  his  resolute  will, 
liut  this  young-  lady  of  eighteen  had  a  will  of  her  own,  (luito 
as  strong  as  his  when  she  chose  to  assert  it. 

"He's  like  the  death's-head  at  the  EgyiTiian  banquets,*' 
she  said  to  Mrs.  (ialbraith,  bitterly;  "always  pn^sent  ami 
always  si)oiling  my  pleasure.  Why  does  he  make  pretense 
of  st()])ping  at  the  Sliip  Hotels  Why  doesn't  he  fetch  his 
belongings,  and  take  up  his  abode  'at  once  in  this  house? 
IJ(^  is  like  one's  shadow,  or  one's  poodle,  followijig  forever, 
no  matter  where  one  goes.     C^m't  he  see  he  is  not  wanted  r' 

"My  dear,  what  language!''  exclaimed  Mrs.  (Jalbraitli. 
*  His  lordship's  attentions  are  most  flattering  to  you.  It  is 
plain  enough  to  be  seen  ho  is  quite  infatuated;  and  it 
would  bo.  a  brilliant,  yes,  a  splendid  match  for  you.  His 
in<'()me  is  clear  fifteen  thousand  a  year,  and  tl^^  title  one  of 
the  oldest  in  Britain." 

"f>ord  Montalien  has  fifteen  thousand  a  year,  and  he  is  a 
miser  If  he  wants  me  at  all  he  wants  my  eighty  thousand 
IKtunds  t  add  to  his  store.  As  you  seem  to  be  a  friend  of 
his,  Mrs.  Galbraith,  suppose  you  drop  him  a  iiint  to  spar..'  me 
his  company  for  the  future.  The  more  I  see  of  him  the 
more  I  dislike  him."  • 

"You  are  more  than  unjust,  Miss  Lisle;  you  are  unchris- 
tian. I  the  i^ht  yon  were  above  repeating  such  cruel  caluni- 
nies  as  ihij-^c  behind  his  back." 

"1  will  say  them  to  his  face,  if  you  prefer  it !  I  will,  1 
protest,  if  he  does  not  cease  dogging  me  as  he  does.  What 
business  have  people  to  couple  our  names?  I  would  die  bo- 
fore  1  would  marry  him!  You  call  me  unju-t.  I  tell  yon, 
'passionately,'  I  am  not.  I  have  reason  to  hale  him — 1  know 
ho  is  the  man  who  lured  poor  Alice  Wan^n  fr(»m  hev  home." 

"Paulina!  that  person's  name  again!"  sai<l  Airs.  (Jalbraith, 
with  austerity.  "Did  I  not  tell  you  it  was  indelicate  of  yuu 
even  to  allude  to  her?" 

"Yes,  you  told  me,  Mrs.  (Jalbraith,"  the  girl  answered, 
with  a  hard  laugh.  "You  do  your  duty  by  mo  in  every 
respi^ct.  She  has  been  unfortunate,  through  no  fault  of 
hers;  she  is  in  misery  and  poverty,  perhaps,  and  it  is  indeli- 
cate in  her  oldest  friend  to  mention  her  name  I  l*oor  little 
Alice!" 


u     \ 


At  Brighton. 


179 


"Inrousli  no  fault  of  Ikts!  I  don't  understand  you. 
Tho  fault  was  hors,  aihj  slio  must  l»oar  tho  poualty.  Ynu 
IKTwistod  in  advortisiti^  for  licr — let  that  suffice,  v^lu'  is  a 
IfKMt  ereature,  wiiosc  name  you  shouM  Mush  to  mention. 
And,  for  tlie  re«t,  no  one  thinks  of  iier  in  oonnoetioii  with 
hin  lordship — the  unhappy  yonnjj:  woman  H«>d  from  homo 
with   his   disreputahle   younger   hrother." 

"Never!"  J^aulina's  eyes  flaslu-d  fire.  "They  traveled 
up  to  London  toi/cthcr ;  a  eoineidence^ — nothing?  more.  (Ju-r 
Farlscourt  affirmod  to  Alice's  father  that  he  was  not  the 
partner  of  h(>r  flight,  and  Mathew  Warren  hclitn-cs  hin>.'  So 
do  I — so  does  (^iptain  Villiers." 

"Captain  Villiers!" 

"Yes;  he  was  one  o#the  men  stopi)in^  in  the  hou^^e  at  the 
time;  and  he  is  here,  you  know.  Yesterday  on  the  pier  E 
asked  him " 

"Paulina!  you  asked  him?" 

"Don't  faint,  Mrs.  Galhraith.  Yes,  I  had  the  shockinjj: 
audacity  to  ask  him  if  he  could  throw  any  lijijht  on  the  s^ib- 
jcct  —  if  he  believed  Lieutenant  Karl.Acourt  to  be  the  mini 
with  whom  she  iled.  And  he  said  no,  emphatically  no. 
They  all  admired  her — he.  Sir  Harry  Gordon,  Lord  Monta- 
lien,  and  Guy — Guy,  least  of  all;  Guy,  in  the  way  of  court- 
ship, never." 

"Perhaps  he  told  you  also  v/hom  he  did  suspect?" 

"No,  men  dim't  tell  of  each  other;  he  did  not.  Put  uidess 
Alice  herself  came  before  me,  and  told  me  Lord  Montalion 
was  p^uiltlcvss,  T  would  not  believe  it.  Now  you  know  why  I 
dislike  him!  His  conduct  to  his  brother,  too,  is  abomina- 
ble. Three  times  last  week  Guy  was  arrested  for  debt,  and 
taken  to  some  horrid  place;  a  'sponpfin^-house.'  Captain  Vil- 
liers called  it;  and  not  once  did  Lord  ^[(<ntalien,  with  his 
fifteen  thousand  ])ounds  a  year,  come  forward  to  aid  him. 
No,  he  left  it  to  his  old  maiden  aunt.  Who  could  like  such 
a  man  as  that  ?  Why  doesn't  he  pay  his  brother's  debts,  as 
an  only  brother  should  ?" 

"You  talk  lik(^  a  child,  Paulina.  Guy  Farlscourt  de- 
serves neilhei'  your  pity  nor  his  brother's  help.  He  is  one 
of  the  fastest,  most  reckle*;s  younp'  men  of  his  fhy,  pos- 
sessed  of  every  vice  inider  huuen,  T  believe " 

"That  will  do,  Mrs.  Gfllbraith!  Who  is  cnlumniatinpr  the 
absent  now?  With  all  his  vices,  T  Im  Heve  he  is  far  the 
belter  man  of  the  two.  He  used  to  have  a  h.^art,  at  lejist. 
liord  l\fontalien,  like  the  ^ochhvss  Minerva,  was  born  without 
that  inconvenient  appendajxe.  And  now,"  nnllifiur  ftut  her 
watch,  and 'with  her  brighleH^  Hudle,  "if  wc  have  donft  quav- 
rol>iiflr»  fiiyjpofle  we  go  for  a  drl?o?" 


-m 


-—  •  '' 


i8o 


At  Brighton 


"I  wish  I  could  seo  Mr.  Karlscourt/'  fiho  thought,  as  sht 
hiy  baek  in  the  l)an>u(.*hc';  "1  would  ask  h'lin  about  Alice 
He  went  up  with  h«'r  to  Lt>nd()n,  an<l  Ik*  may  know  some- 
thing.    I  will  n<"»('j  t^iv«*  uj.-  -never  re.-t  U)ilil   i  tind  her." 

Miss  Lisle  had  Iht  wish  that  very  nij^lit.  As  she,  on  her 
guardian's  arm,  made  her  way,  near  mi<lnight,  through 
feome  crowded  assembly  rrjoms,  she  saw,  htanfiing  talking  to 
il'aptain   Villiers,   (Juy    Karlseourt.  .     ,     . 

An  eager  light  of  jjlensure  and  reeognition  eame  into  her 
face,  lie  was  a  spendthrift,  a  gandiler — she  had  heard — 
lie  was  over  head  and  ears  in  debt  ;  social  outlawry  threat- 
ened him;  the  world  spoke  bitterly  ot  him;  his  (?xcellent 
elder  brother  hated  him;  and  for  all^thls  the  girl's  impetu- 
ous, gen(>rous  heart  went  out  toward  him.  It  was  eiiildish, 
perhaps,  but  his  very  misde^'ds  thr('\v  a  halo  of  romance 
around  him.  He  was  Monto  ('ri^1o,  .Mephistoi)heles,  Don 
Giovanni;  and  he  was  so  very,  vi/ry  handsome,  i)oor  fellow, 
and  he  had  such  a  noble  air — there  was  not  another  man  in 
the  room  who  looked  so  distinguished  as  he. 

She  remembered  him  as  she  had  seen  him  last,  with  the 
sunshine  lighting  up  his  dark  face  as  he  bowed  good-by. 
The  dark  splendor  of  that  Italian  face  was  a  trifle  dimmed 
now — "lans(iuenet  after  balls,  and  absinthe  before  breakfast 
will  tell  in  the  end,"  as  Captain  Villiers  said  to  her;  he 
seemed  thin  and  worn,  and  the  great,  luminous,  pathetic 
brown  eyes  looked  at  you  with  a  tired  light.  Withal,  he  was 
dressed  in  the  i)erfection  of  taste — a  knot  of  Russian  violets 
in  his  buttonliole — and  more  than  one  pair  of  bright  eyes 
b  ide  Paulina's  turned  upon  him  with  shy  admiration  as 
•  be  stood  there  in  that  attitude  of  languid  grace. 

"I  say,  Guy!  there  she  is,  by  Jove!  and  your  brother  in 
her  wake,  as  usual.  The  Lisle,  I  mean — prettiest  thing  the 
sun  shines  on.  She  rides  better,  waltzes  better,  talks  better, 
and  sing*  better  than  any  girl  I  know;  and  sihe  has  eighty 
thousand;  and  your  brother  is  making  play  there  in  a  way 
that  leaves  no  room  for  lesser  mortals.  Look  at  her! 
:   Loveliest  woman  in  tlie  rooms — isn't  she?" 

Guy  looked  lazily.  He  had  come  exi>rcssly  (;lown  to  Brighton 
to  have  a  look  at  her;  but  the  roonts  were  warm^  and  not 
even  for  the  beaut.v  of  Brighton  was  he  prepared  to  excite 
himself.  He  looked,  with  lanj-niid  {idmii'atien,  at  the  ex- 
quisite face,  conscious  of  Ms  gaze,  and  (lrfiO])ing  a  h'ttle 
under  it. 

"Yes,"   he 'said,    at    Inst;    "you're    right,    N'iiliers.     She    •« 

.  handsonw^ — always  was   though,  I  remember — and    thorough - 

bfpd    Fis   a    i)riTicess.     See   how   disdainfully     he   glances    at 

Monti!    He  has  no  show,  I'm  certain;  and  Im  ^flad  oi  it 


u 


as  Bhi 

Alice 

sonie- 
icr. 

on  her 
tii-cnijfh 
ciiiyj  to 

ito  her 
icifrd— 
thri'Mt- 
scoUent 
iiupolu- 
■hiUli>li, 
oinancB 
28,   Don 
■  fellow, 
man  in 

vith  the 
good-by. 
dimmed 
rcakfast 
her;  he 
pathetic 
he  was 
violets 
ht  eyes 
tion  as 

)ther  in 
ling  tb«^ 
better, 
eighty 
ii  a  way 
lal    her  I 

;  right  on 

lind  not 

excite 

Itbe   cx- 

la    lUtle 

She    '-H 

|(»rougii- 

|nfM?s    at 

ot  it. 


At  Brighton. 


Si 


ft  would  bo  a  saeriligo  to  (brow  sucli  a  girl  as  thai  aw  ly 
on  rraiik.* 

"SuppcKSo  yon  go  in  and  win,  yoursi'If,  Ciuy.  Yon  oou'ld, 
you  know.  Slic  talks  of  yon,  and  I'ciMcnihcrs  yon,  and  pities 
you  for  your  misfortunes,  as  siic  terms  it.  Migliiy  tliiui«,;iud 
is  about  your  figure;  and  tlicn  it  would  \h-  a  pleasure  lo  eut 
out  your  brother." 

"Well,  yes,"  (Jny  said,  stroking  bis  bhick  iiin-t.-iclio;  "if 
anything  eould  make  me  enfer  iIm'  li'>t,  it  would  lie  that;  but 
I  don't  thiid<  1  shall  add  fortunediniiting  to  my  otlier 
enormities  just  yet.  Miss  I.islt*  de.-^erves  n  hetter  fate,  pooi 
little  girl,  than  to  fall  a  victim  to  either  (d'  n-;." 

"She  is  looking  thin  way."  the  (ttber  said,  eagerly.  "C'-ine, 
Earlseourt,  let  us  go  and  ask  her  to  daneel" 

"What!  you,  too,  George,  one  of  her  slaves?  No;  iho 
'Tenth'  don't  dance.  Not  even  Mi  -;  Lisle's  attractions  c.iii 
induce  me  to  the  madness  of  waltzing,  with  the  thermoiue- 
tiT  at  its  present  height.  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  tronbbi 
Miss  Lisle  at  all — not  worth  while,  as  T  return  to  town  again 
to-morrow." 

So  Captain  Villier.s  went  up  alone  and  wrote  his  name  on 
Miss  l^isle's  tablets;  and  if  that  young  lady  vvundered  a  I'ttle 
at  Guy's  neglect,  her  face  did  not  show  it.  She  danced 
with  Villiers — witli  nearly  every  man  who  asked  her.  savo 
and  except  T^ord  Montalieji;  and  more  than  once  her  eyes 
followed  the  tall  form  of  Guy  Isarlseonrt  as  he  moved  iu 
his  slow,  graceful  way  through  the  warm  rormis, 

"Why  does  he  not  spe^k  to  me''?"  she  wondered.  "I  low 
unkind  of  him!  I  am  detfM'mine<l  to  s[)eak  to  liiin,  how- 
ever, before  the  evening  ends,  lie  must  tell  me  somethiog 
of  Alice." 

She  went  into  the  music-room  presently,  on  the  arm  (»f 
Captain  Villiers,  and  sat  down  to  sing.  The  rnm(»r  that 
Miss  Lisle  was  about  to  sing  was  enonjxh  to  insure  an  audi- 
ence. She  glanced  saucily  over  he«  shoulder  as  the  ap;iit- 
ment  filled,  and  saw,  leaning  against  a  column  near  the  door- 
way, Lieutenant  Karlscourl,  and  a  sudden  insjiirati(.n  sei/';l 
her,  and  the  song  >be  had  sutig  two  years  ago  at  Mnolaiit-M 
Priory,  while  he  bent  ov -r  her,  broke  like  a  bird's  trill  \'v'.i\ 
her  li])s. 

He  had  dra\Cn  near  involuntarily — be  was  standinu'  r]t>-() 
b<^>side  b.er  when  ^he  aro-e  from  the  piano,  and  she  held  "U" 
her  hand  to  him  at  ojice  with  her  nu)st  radiant,  hev  w  \. 
sauc.v  smile. 

"But  where  is  County  Guy?  T  thought  you  would  ic- 
membei   :he  old  song  even  if  you  ha?©  forgotten  pooa  jri*\ 


''  t 


U- 


t 


•  V 


1 82 


At  Brighton. 


Mr.    Karlsc'ourt,  won't    you   nuy   'how   do  yoi?    do'  to   iVllj 
Ahisoii  f 

(riuy  Karlsroiirfc  was  no  htoio.  IIo  bent  above  tlie  li'tle 
haiul,  and  niurniurecl  liis  thanks,  at  iter  gracious  leniciu- 
braiicc. 

"T  \\a(\  scarroly  boixsd  for  so  ^rcat  an  lionoi,"  he  said, 
''aiiMtiig'  the  liundrcds  f)f  new  friends,  of  adoi;ers,  wlio  '-ur- 
round  tlie  beUe  of  Hrij»l»ton.  You  must  pardon  in^f  not  com- 
ing forward  sooner,  and  ehnniing  recojjnilion — it  was  uiy 
V<My  ^^reat  modesty,  I  assure  you." 

'"The  first  time  T  ever  lieard  you  credited  witli  tlie  virtue," 
laufjfhed  I*aidlna,  taking  l»is  arm.  She  was  at  her  bri^ditent 
IX'W  :  she  liad  iiad  wiiat  sh(»  so  dearly  loved — her  owti  way. 

*'()r  any  other  virtue,  T  fear.  Doesn't  Mrs,  Galbraitli  do 
ht'v  duty,  and  tell  you  what  a  monster  T  am?" 

"Mrs.  (Jalbraith  does  her  duty,  and  tcdls  me  what  a  mon- 
H\i  .'  you  are.  Hut  I  have  n  jrrent  deal  of  eouraj^e — thanks 
to  my  early  training;  and  I'm  not  afraid  of  monsters,  Mr. 
Earlseourt,  I  have  been  wanting  to  see  you  very  much,  to 
s|)eid<  to  you  ujion  a  suliject,  the  one  trouble  of  my  life, 
ni'd  I  (';Mi'l  liens  amon^'  tliis  crowd.  Will  you  take  me  some- 
whore  where  we  can   talk  undisturbed  C" 

Her  i)erfeet  innoeenee,  and  the  nearness  of  the  subjeet  to 
h(  r  luart  pave  her  eourajxe,  verjiiuf?  upon  boldness,  perhaps. 
]>ut  -he  did  not  mean  to  \)v  bold,  and  she  went  with  him  out 
on  tlie  baleony — d(  serted  by  all  save  themselves, 

''You  know  what  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about,  \  sujipo-e, 
Mr,  Earlseourt?"  she  beit?an,  impulsively.  "When*  is  Alice 
Warnn?" 

'   The  blue,  earnest  eyes  were  curiously  watchinjjf  him.     Was 
he  truilty?     No,  fjruilt  never  looked  back  at  her  as  he  lookod. 

"T  wisli  I  knew,  AIis«*»Lisle.  T  don't,  T  assure  you.  I  am 
afraid  our  poor  little  friend  has  come  to  grief." 

""Mr.  Earlseourt,  you  know  that  some  people  say — say,'' 
lur  face  dmoped  a  little,  "that  she  fled  with  you." 

"I  know  it.  It  is  not  true.  We  were  up  to  town  toorether 
— that  was  the  first  I  knew  of  her  flight,  and  ehe  askeul  ine 
to  see  her  safe  to  her  destination.  It  was  night,  and  she 
was  afraid — alone  in  London." 

"And  you  did?"  breathlessly. 

"1  did.  T  went  with  her  to  the  place,  a  lodging  in  Tot- 
tenham Court  Koad,  and  left  her  in  oharge  of  the  landlady, 
Tlint  was  riin.e  weeks  ago." 

"And  you  have  never  seen  her  since." 

"Yes,  (.iK-e,  nearly  a  fortnight  ago.  Upon  my  teturn  from 
viermauy  I  went  to  the  place  a  second  time.  She  was  still 
there— oui;y  ^liie  paiUd  shadow  9f  the  blooming  Alioe  yoC 


At  Brifrhton. 


«»l 


lit1c 

3  sui<l, 
lo  »ur- 
t  coiii- 

■irtiu," 

vny. 
lith  ilo 

a  m<»ii- 
-thnnks 
«».  M  r. 
lueh,  to 
ny  life, 
0  some- 

|l)jpot  to 

liiii  out 

iUppO-M?, 

is   A  life 

..     Wns 

looked. 

1  nm 

—say,'' 

totrether 
kkoil  int 
land  >lit 


111   Tot- 
nullady. 


I  III  from 
ja&  still 


kn«w.     But  sh(>  rold  mo  nothing?,  mux   I  M-^kc.l  ih,  que^Htions. 
Slic  was  k^iowii  ill  tlio  hduso  l)y  Hi..'  name  ol   Airs,  iinnvii." 

"1  will  p:o  to  LqjkIoii  to-iuon-ow  and  lind  Ium',"  cried  im- 
petuous Tauliiia.  "Oii.  .Mr.  Karlscourl.  I  irlt  Miro  you 
could  tell  iiic  .soiiirtliin^r.  1  am  so  j^iad,  so  lliaiikful  for 
Uiis!" 

"Miss  JJsle.  I  am  sorry  to  dusli  your  liopes,  but  it  is  too 
late.      She  is  ^oiio  !' 

''doner' 

"J'he  following'-  day  1  returncMl  ap:ain.  I  pitied  her  very 
mu(;li,  KII.--  Lisle.  Hor  wan,  wn^tclied  face,  iier  tears,  made 
ine  miseraMe.  I  \n^nt  hack,  and  she  wa.s  ^'one.  The  ^jontle- 
man,  t^li(>  servant,  said,  had  ealled  after  1  iiad  left,  and  Irs. 
iii'own  looked  (ir(^a(iful  when  she  ut-nt  away,  and  he  jiaid 
tin-  laiulhhly,  and  told  her  Mrs.  lirown  was  about  to  leav(! 
London.  >»'ext  inorninjf  a  cab  came  for  her  and  took  her 
and  her  things  away.  I  could  hiarn  no  more — the  servant 
km^w   nothing  of  her  destination." 

J'auliiia's  t"ae<'  looked  very  blank. 

'*()h,  Mr.  Karl>eoiirt,  tell  me  who  this  man  is — this  bad, 
l)ad  man,  who  has  lured  her  away  from  her  home — who 
pn^miscd  faithfully  to  marry  her,  and  make  her  liappy  ^ 
Ynu  suspeet — you   must   suspeet — tell   me  who   it  is  I" 

"J*ardon  me,  Miss  Lisle;  not  even  to  you  may  1  breatho 
my  su>{)ieions." 

"Ft  is  your  bfMther — I  know  it  is — ho  always  admired  her 
— years  a^o,  v.lieii  lie  saw  her  first,  he  was  struck  l)y  her. 
And  h(!  dcirn'>s  it;  but  I  have  vowed  to  discover  the  truth, 
fw'id  1  shall !" 

Her  handsome  lijxs  sot  tlieniselves  in  a  resolute  line — her 
blue  ey»'s  flashed  in  the  starlight  through  her  passionate 
tears. 

"Vou  are  a  true  friend,  Miss  Lish-,  and  they  say  women 
do  not  know  tlie  meaning  of  the  word  frieydship  for  eacji 
other." 

**I  love  Alice  like  a  sifter.  Those  I  have  once  liked  I  like 
always,  let  them  do  what  they  will." 

"Your  fri('n<ls  are  fortunate  |)eople,"»  ^Fiss  Lisle.  You 
t^hould^dd  me  to  the  list;  it  would  be  a  splendid  opportunity 
of  exerCTSin^  your  charity.  I  don't  deserve  a  friend,  J  am 
quite  aware,  still  1  think  it  would  be  phnisant  to  have  one." 

"I  am  your  friend,"  she  answered,  qnietly. 

"What!  in  spite  of  all  the  atrocious  thini^'s  Frank,  Sir 
Vane,  ]\Irs.  Cialbraith  and  the  world  must  have  told  you  of 
Suoh  a  black  sheep  as  myself?"  with  his  ra?e  smile. 

"In  apite  ot  all  If  one  deserts  one's  friends  because  they 
ff©  aiLioir',uaie;,  I  would  not  give  much  for  frieudsJiipc'' 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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At  Brighton. 


■^r'nfortun'ate!"  l:e  smiled  again.  "That  is  a  miM  word 
\o  apjuy  to  such  a  ne'cT-do-wclJ  as  1  am.  Stili,  1  'tlu  iik  you, 
Ali^s  Lisl{i;  1  will  not  soon  forget  your  Ji'uid   indiil^T'iice." 

She  glanccnl  at  him,  looking  very  haugJity  and  handsome 
in  the  dim  light.  Tlien  her  head  droojicd — she  begun  play- 
ing n(.'rvously  witli  her  tassels.  Jle  was  in  (hht ;  she  had 
riH^re  money  than  she  knew  wliat  to  do  with;  ^he  felt  a  great 
compassion  for  hirn  stirring  in  her  heart;  if  he  would  only 
let  he  I'  help  him. 

"Mr.  Earlscourt,"  she  faltered,  "they — say — you  are  in 
debt,"  words  coming  slowly  and  painfully.  "If  I  ani  ycjur 
friend,  will  you  not  let  me — oh,  don't*  be  hurt — don't  he 
offended,  please — but  won't  you  let  me  help  you?  I  have  so 
niue'h  moicy.  I  don't  want  i*,  and  it  would  make  me  so 
happy  if  only  you  would " 

Jle  made  a  sudden,  swift  motion  that  stopped  her. 

"Not  a  word  more,  Miss  Lisle!  From  my  soul  I  am  grate- 
ful to  you,  but  you  must  see  it  is  impossible.  Believe  me,  1 
■will  not  readily  forget  your  generosity  of  this  night,  un- 
worthy of  it  as  I  am." 

lie  was  more  moved  than  he  eared  to  show. 

She  shrank  away  a  little,  feeling  pain,  pity,  embarra.ss- 
incnt  in  his  presence. 

"I  am  un-worthy  of  your  compassion — remember  tli.it. 
Miss  JJsle.  All  they  have  told  you  of  me  is  true,  Wluit- 
rver  has  befallen  me  is  merited.  I  have  wrought  my  own 
ruin.  And  the  end  is  very  near.  'FdclH.^  dcsccnsuf!  AvernH' 
And  I  am  at  the  bottom  of  the  i)it.  W(>11,  the  descent  at 
least  has  been  pleasant,  and  when  oblivion  comes  thvYo  is 
iiothing  to  do  but  let  the  waters  close  over  my  head;  to  g) 
out  to  the  exile  I  have  richly  earned;  to  accept  my  fate  and 
sink  from  sight;  and  when  the  finale  comes — a  shot  in  a 
gambling  hell  most  likely — to  cover  my  face  and  die  witli 
dignity.  Am  I  boring  you  with  a  sermon?  and  you  shiver. 
while  I  selfishly  keep' you  here  in  the  cold.  Don't  waste 
your  pity  on  me,  Miss  Lisle;  I  doii't  dc^^erve  it;  let  me  take 
you  back  to  the  ballroom." 

She  was  shivering,  but  not  with  cold,  and  she  was  veiy 
pale  in  the  glaring  gaslight  when  she  re-ejiteied  the  warm 
rooms.  He  resigned  her  with  a  low  Ixnv  to  her  nexl^  partner. 
The  tears  were  hardly  dryon  h«'r  long  lashes  yet  as  she  w;is 
whirled  away  in  the  redowa,  tears  not  all;  jierhaps,  for  Alief 
Warren 

Five  minutes  after  Lieutenant  Larlseonrt  <iuitted  the  ball. 
By  the  first  train  next  morning  he  quitted  Brighton,  carry- 
ing with  him  the  memory  of  th«  sweet,  iuipaesioned  face 
upon  which  the  stars  had  8hop«.  *         l 


..■'■■      t 


ill   the  on«t  be- 
ball  was  break- 


-.  OHAI»'JKR     VV.  • 

IN    WHKII    Miss   LlSI.i:    IS    DISi'oSKl)   v>F. 

Miss  T.islo  was  (b'stiiiod  to  liavo  still  aiiotluM-  fete-a-teh 
♦liat  meniorable  iiij^ht.  The  rcdowa  ovt-r,  she  snit  her  part- 
ner for  an  ice — cmly  a  pretext  to  get  rid  of  him,  however. 
The  i)laee  v.as  stiHingly  warm,  it  se(Mned  to  her  now;  tlie 
(lances  had  been  interininabhs  the  eominoiiplaee  nothing 
<if  the  youn^  officer  insufferably  stupid. 

She  passed  alonj^  unobserve<l,  as  she  fancied,'  to  the  half- 
lit,  wholly  deserted  music-room,  and  throwing  herself  into  a 
seat  by  the  window,  lo(^ked  moodily  out  at  the  eoiiiinp 
(lawn. 

The  stars  had   set;   faint  strejTks  of  gray 
lokened  the  down  of  another  morning,     "^rhe 
ing  up  already. 

Mrs.  Galbraith  was  h)oking  for  her,  no  doubt;  but  she 
n(!ver  thought  of  that  long-suffering  chaperon.  Iler  heart 
was  full  of  a  great  pity  for  the  man  who  had  gon(>--seiiti^ 
mental  and  undeserved,  you  will  say;  but  she  was  on]y  eight' 
een,  and  he  was  so  very  handsome.  IJad  Mr.  Karlseourt 
heen  the  hapless  possessor  of  a  i)ug  lUise  and  dull  gray 
eyes,  he  might  have  gone  to  his  ruin  without  causing  Miss 
Lisle  a  second  thought,  but  the  )>ale,  dark  face  was  simjdy 
perfect,  and  the  large,  brown  eyes  pathetic  in  their  dark, 
dreamy  lustre,  although  their  owner  might  be  musing  on  the 
odds  for  the  Derby,  or  whether  the  bailiffs  might  not  pounce 
upon  liim  the  instant  he  returned  to  Londoiu 

As  she  sat  there  lost  in  thought,  a  voice  at  her  elbow 
spoke : 

"I  have  been  searching  for  yon  everywhere,  my  dear  Miss 
'Lisle.     I  have  come  to  reproach  you — you  have  treated  me 
with  merciless  cruelty   all   night." 

She  ^ooked  around  angrily  at  tne  sound  of  the  voice  sh« 
detested-  most.     Was  she  never  to  be'  rid  of  this  man? 

"Lord  Montalien  gives  himself  a  g"eat  deal  of  unneces- 
sary trouble,"  she  answered,  in  her  iciest  voice,  and  ignoring? 
the  reproach  altogether. 

"Miss  l.isle,  you  have  danced  with  every  man  in,  the 
rooms,  T  believe,  but  myself.     What  have  I  done?" 

"Xothing  whr/:Gver.  Like  Ca'sar's  wiTe,  my  Lord  Monta- 
li(>n  is  above  reproach." 

**How  bitterly  you  say  that!     Miss  Lisle,  do  ^  ^a  hate  m»f* 

iBw  Lisle  V;:;:;  3ileBt,  playisg  with  her  ffti.  < 


i'  i 


i86   fn  WhicVi  Miss  Lisle  is  Disposed  Of. 


"Ag'ain  I  ask.  Miss  Lisle,  what  have  I  done?-  At  loa-t  ] 
have  the  right  to  know  that!" 

"And  again  I  answer,  Lord  MontaHen,"  replied  Pauliun. 
atruggling  with  another  yawn — "nothing!  Your  conduct  iv 
every  phase  of  life  is  exemplary.  Will  that  satisfy  you  (  [ 
hear  Mrs.  Galbraith  bleating  after  her  lambkin  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  must  go." 

"Wait  one  moment!"  his  lordship  impetuously  exclaiiiic! 
— "only  one  instant!  I  can  bear  this  suspense  no  longer!  I 
must  speak  to-night!  Paulina,  I  love  you!  Will  you  be  mv 
wife?" 

lie  l)ent  above  her,  his  eyes  glowing,  his  thin,  sallow  fac* 
flushed.     The  excitement  of  the  ahase  had  ca^'ried  him  away ; 
her  very   disdain,    hardly   concealed,   spurred   him   on.     \U 
knew  perfectly  what  her  answer  would  be — yet  he  spoke. 
^She  rose  up  and  looked  at  him,  neither  surprised  nor  eiii- 
barrasseil;  then  she  turned  away. 

"You  honor  mo  by  your  preference,"  she  aaid,  in  her  cold- 
est voice.  "At  the  sam^j  time,  I  do  not  think  you  expect 
me  to  say  anything  but  *no !' " 

She  moved  a  step  away,' but  he  came  before  her,  his  ariiLS 
folded,  that  pale  glow  in  lys  eyes  still. 

"Miss  Lisle,  I  am  to  understand  you  reject  me?" 

She  bowed  her  head. 

"You  do  not  love  mo?" 

"I  do  not  love  you." 

"But,  Paulina,  pause — think.  I  offer  you  one  of  the  oldest 
titles  in  England;  and  my  position  and  income  are  such  as 
to  prevent  the  most  malicious  from  calling  me  a  fortune 
huntei'.  And  I"  love  you  to  distraction — I  would  serve  t  tr 
you  as  Jacob  served  for  Rachel.  I  will  give  you  time,  onlv 
do  not — do  not  utterly  reject  me." 

His  voice  broke,  he  turned  away;  his  acting  was  xx^rfeci, 
but  it  was  acting,  and  a  faint,  cynical  smile  curved  tho  girl's 
perfect  lips. 

"My  lord,"  she  said,  and  her  sweet,  clear  voice  rang  silvrrv 
and  distinct,  "let  us  understand  each  other.  You  d()  n<^t 
love  UiC,  whatever  your  motive  in  asking  me  to  be  your 
wife.  My  feelings  in  regard  to  you  I  have  not  slrlvt.'u  ij 
conceal.  Before  you  spoke  to  me  you  kn';^w  perfectly  whrit: 
my  answer  would  be.  I  believe  you  to  be,  in  sspite  of  eveiy 
thing  you  have  said,  the  betrayer  of  Alice  Warren— T  ^V  " 
it — I  know  it,  as  surely  as  we  stand  here.  Let  there  be  ii' 
jnd  of  this  farce  then,  at  once  and  forever — cease  to  per  '^ 
Bute  m«»  with  attenions  as  unwelcome  as  they  arc  useles: 

8he  bad  fitivij^  rous^  itim,  lairl>  au^j^orod  his^  m  sh.9 


meant  1 
critical 

"Tak. 
when  n 
Much  a: 
1  know 
brother, 
wlu>m  s 

"My 
(ialbrait 

"Pass, 
•ruelty, 
U'tter  yi 
any  pur 
^et  very 
take  my 
>(;u  are 
1)1  V  o^Vr 

'-The 
iieliancc 
n:e,   l-dfi 
-p'':!k  Oil 

He  on 

"A  ch' 

Hut  s] 
iici"  eyes 
and   hnti 

'V\    (dl 

tCJMh.        " 

■>} 

He  St 
I  hough  I 
hand  to 
him  as  k 
her  wrai 
then  Si; 
Montalit 

He  wa 
f^ene  in 
cussed  t] 
f(»r  iipp( 
h'ancu  h 
leauty  i 

Miss  I 
never  sj 
would  s( 

The  \i 


1  know  iiotliiiij^  of  Alice  WuiTcii  orNlicr  ini-;t'ral»le  >->t.)r.v. 
Lrother,    of   whom   .you   isin-uk   so   U'ii<i(ily,    is    \ho    iiuiii 


i\ii-s. 


your 


In  Wh«ch  M^ss  Lisle  is  Disposed  Of.    187/ 

meant  to  do.     II in  oi-vn   onniity  wa.i  bottor  thai  his  hypo- 
critical ilf'votiou. 

''Takn  caiv!"  he  suid,  under  his  hrcalh,  as  he  always  Hpoke 
wiieri  roally  moved;  "even  yuu  mny  f^o  tc)  far,  I'aulina. 
Much  as  I  love  you,  even  from  you   1   will   not  e'xlure  ins',;lt. 

My 

with 

wlumi  she  H(m1," 

"My   lord,   will  you    let  me   pass'      1   re])eat    1    hear 
(lalbraitii's  voice." 

"Pa»a,  Miss  Lisle,"  he  said;  "I  forgive  and  overlook 
•ruclty,  a»^d  will  still  venture  to  hope  on.  If  you  knew  me 
better  you  would  kuow  I  am  not  a  man  easily  turned  from 
any  purpose  on  which  1  have  set  my  heart,  and  niv  heart  is 
M't  very  sirongly  on  winnin.a:  and  wedding  you.  Will  you 
fiike  niy  arm  to  the  dressing-room^  You  will  not  ^  Ah,  well, 
,v(;u  are  exinted  now.  The  day  niay  e(»me  when  1  will  repeat 
iiiy  o5er,  and  you  will  listen  more  graciously.''' 

"The  day  will  never  come,"  she  retorted,  in  a  blaze  of 
lieiianee.  "How  dare  you  address  such  insolent  words  lo 
ii!(\  I.ord  Montalien?  You  are  less  tiian  man;  1.  will  never 
^p'.'k  one  word  to  yon  again  as  h;ng  as  I  live!" 

JJe  only  saiiled. 

"A  child's  threat,  my  jjeerless  Paulina." 

liut  she  had  sw(?pt  away  like  an  outraged  y(uing  empress, 
her  eyes  flashing  fire,  her  whole  form  instinct  with  auger 
and   hatred. 

"A  child's  threat,"  she  thought,  setting-  her  white,  ktuhII 
t<eilL     "He  shall  see  whether  or  no  I  can  keep  a  woman's 


fill 


.  oV. 


lie  stood  at  the  carriage  door  when  she  reached  if  as 
Though  nothing  had  happened,  and  courteously  held  out  his 
liand  to  assist  her  to  enter.  Her  eyes  flashed  their  fire  upon 
him  as  she  rejected  the  lielp  proti'ered,  and  sank  back  among 
h(T  wraps  in  the  remotest  corn(  r.  Mrs.  riall)r;rith  followed, 
then  Sir  Vane,  and,  to  her  unspeakable  disgust,  Lord 
Montalien. 

He  was  completely  himself  again — no  trace  of  the  stormy 
f^ene  in  the  music-room  showed  on  his  placid  face.  He  dis- 
cussed the  ball  with  Mrs.  (lalbraith,  his  brothj^r's  mdooked- 
U>i'  ai)p<?arance  tliere  with  Sir  Vane,  and  once  or  twice 
leaned  smilingly  forward  to  addr(?ss  a  renmrk  to  the  sullen 
Leanty  in  the  corner.  Dead  silence  followed  those  reuiaiks 
-Miss  Lisle  could  keep  her  word  as  well  as  he.  "She  would 
never  speak  to  him  again,"  she  had  said  in  her  passion;  it 
would  seem  she  meant  to  keep  her  wor<l. 

The  ji/allid  dawn  was  already  overspref  \^  th«»  ukjf  y/ihun 


\ 


i88    In  Which  Miss  Lisle  is  Disposed  Of. 


thf'.v  r(  u'liod  tlie  Ivist  C-liff.  His  lorflsliip  followed  tiit-di 
iiit-o  the  house.  Miss  Lisle  tiud  Mrs.  (lalhr.iitli  went  at  oik-o 
to  their  res})eetive  apartiri'.  iits,  aiwl  Sir  Vane,  yawninj^  v;'iv 
much,  looked  well  dispc'scd  to  follow,  hut  his  lordshii  id 
Ins  hand  farniliarlv  on  his  shoulder,  and  detained  liini. 

"Rather  an  unse.i'^onablo  hour,  I  know,"  he  said,  blandly, 
"but  could  I  have  a  word  with  you  in  private,  Sir  Vane,  be- 
fore you  retire?" 

The  baronet  looked  it  him  in  surprise,  and  led  the  vv;iy 
toward  his  study.  A  fire  burned  in  the  grate,  two  easy- 
ohairs  were  placed  before  it,  a  i)air  of  wax  lights  on  the  man- 
tel. By  their  light  the  baronet  saw  that  his  lordship  look(  d 
as  widely  awake,  as  little  sleepy,  as  though  it  had  been  hinh 
noon. 

He  flung  himself  impatiently  into  one  of  the  armchairs, 
and  i)ulled  out  his  watch. 

"iralf-i)aut  five,  Montalien,"  he  said;  "and  I'm  infernally 
sleepy.  Look  sharp  about  it,  will  you,  or  I  shall  be  as  fast 
as  a  church  before  you  are  half  through." 

"I  have  no  such  fear,  my  dear  Sir  Vane;  you  will  not  \s:o 
to  sleep  until  you  have  heard  every  word,  I  am  qui^e  sure. 
Can  you  guess,  in  the  least,  what  it  is  I  wish  to  say?" 

"I  am  no  Oedipus,  but  I  may  venture  to  surmise,  it  is 
something  about  my  ward." 

"Precisely,  Sir  Vane." 

"I  noticed  she  cut  you  dead  all  night,  and  in  the  carriiif^e 
coming  home.  Have  you  and  she  had  a  quarrel?  She's 
the  devil's  own  tefnper,  I  believe,  when  her  blood's  up." 

"Quite  right  in  every  respect,  Sir  Vane.  We  have  qiuw- 
reled,  and  she  hqs"  the  devil's  own  temper.  Now  who  do 
you  suppose  she  inherits  that  unhappy  disposition  froin^ 
Not  her  mother,  surely-^Lady  Charteris,  it  seems  to  me,  was 
xhe  gentlest  of  created  beings." 

The  baronet  rose  from  his  chair — his  dark  face  turning? 
^,Acm.  \     \  ..  .. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked.  "What  has  the  name  of 
Lady  Charteris  to  do  with  Miss  Lisle?" 

"Sit  down.  Sir  Vane;  pray  don't  excite  yourself.  I  moridy 
uaid  Paulina  must  inherit  her  temper  and  headstrong  dispo- 
sition from  Robert  Lisle,  Lady  Charteris  bein;::  the  most 
fcractaWe  ot  wives,  the  most  yielding  of  women." 

"Lord  Montalien,  what  am  I  to  undcri^tand- 

''That  I  know  all,"  his  lordship  interrupted,  tersely, 
**Tha:t  Lady  Charteris — nay,  give  her  her  richtfu^  name-— 
Mrs.  Robert  Lisle,  is  Paulina's  mother  I" 

The  baronet  sank  down  in  his  seat,  livid  with  amaze* 
inent  and  consternation.. 


)> 


mise,  11  13 


In  Which  Miss  Lisle  is  Disposed  Of.    i8q 

"By  what  rij^'ht."  lie  (IcmMiidcd,  Iionrscly,  '\\o  you  dure 
irinkp  this  iiisiiuiatioi)  ^" 

"P.y  th(^  ri^lit  of  kiiowlcdj^o,  l.y  tlic  ri^li*  of  truth.  I'iinliim 
\.\-<]o  is  the  t'l(h'r  dauj^'lit*'!'  and  heiress  cd  Hie  Lidy  the  world 
thinks  your  wife.  Thinks,  ^iily,  for  .1  lias  never  for 
Olio  secoud  really  been  that.  Kohort  Lisle  is  her  husband. 
Paulina  Lisle  is  her  cbiuj^hti'r  and  heirless,  as  I  said,  and 
yiiur  daughter  is " 

fic  paused.  Sir  Vane  sprang  from  his  ehair  once  mort^ 
I  very  devil  of  fuiy  in  eitiher  eye. 

"If  you  dare!"  he  cried,  "I  will  throttb^  you  where  you 
^it." 

"Then  I  will  not  dare,"  returned  Lord  Montali(!n,  with 
is  quiet  smile,  that  was  like  oil  thrown  upon  fire.  "Sit 
lewu.  Sir  Vane,  sit  down,  and  don't  you  lose  your  temiK^r, 
(s  well  as  your  ward.  It  is  only  a  weak  man's  folly — a  wise 
'10  never  permits  himself  to  i2;Qt  nu^ry.  Sit  downi,  and  let 
is  talk  tihis  matter  out  quietly  and  elearly  if  we  can.  I 
knew  you  would  be  interested,  and  even  at  half-past  five  in 
the  morning  would  not  fall  asleej)." 

The  baronet  sank  back  in  his  ehair,  literally  trembling 
vvith  rage  and  terror,  lie  had  thought  his  secret  so  safe — 
L;idy  Charteris  shut  up  in  a  madhouse,  llobert  Lisle  in 
exile,  and  Duke  Mason  afraid  to  speak,  bound  by  promise 
never  to  reveal  it.  And  here,  in  the  hour  when  he  thought 
himself  safest,  the  last  man  alive  he  would  have  sus{K»c't<Hi 
nf  knowing  it,  started  up,  aware  of  the  whole  truth! 

"This  has  taken  you  by  surprise.  Sir  Vane,"  continued  the 
imooth  tones  of  his  lordship,  "and  yet  I  have  known  it  for 
.>eme  time.  It  is  no  clever  guesswork,  no  supposition,  as 
perhaps  you  may  think.  ,1  happen  to  know  what  T  am  say- 
'iig.  I  happen  to  be  able  to"  prove  it,  if  necessary.  Carry 
^•our  mind  back  twenty  years  ago  or  so  to  the  lifetime  of  Air. 
Oi'offrey  Lyndith,  and  try  if  y(m  can  recollect  a  very  useful 
''.ilet  in  his  service,  by  name  James  Porter." 

The  baronet  gave  one  inarticulate  gasp  at  the  name. 

"Ahl  I  see  you  do  remember.  Perhaps  you  thought  the 
man  dead.  Well,  he  is  dead  now,  and  the  deposition  he 
made  in  his  dying  hours  is  in  my  possession  at  present.  I 
only  wonder  a  clever  man,  such  as  I  take  the  late  Mr. 
Lyndith  to  have  been,  should  be  so  weak  as  to  intrust  this 
kind  of  secret  to  a  servant.  Believe  me,  we  should  do  the«;e 
p''"t  of  things  ourselves.  Sir  Vane,  or  leave  them  inulone. 
'^  ne  lower  classes,  you  will  find,  as  a  rule,  are  troubled  with 
nervousness — conscience,  I  think  they  call  it — and  scHiner  or 
later  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  aflPair.  Porter  did. 
By  tibe  moreet  accident — one  of  those  accident  ^  'hat  rule  th© 


'i    ♦ 


190   In  Which  Miss  Lisle  ^i.  Disposed  Of 

livf'S  of  all  of  us — I  camp  upon  him  ir  his  dyin^  hours,  and 
took  down  his  doposition.  I  have  that  document  aafe.  1 
wonder  what  Robert  \A»\e  or — .your  wift^ — let  us  call  her 
your  wile — would  not  give  for  hi  You  comprehend  n(jw, 
Sir  Vane,  that  youv  secret  is  your  secret  no  longer?" 

"What  do  you  want?"  the  baronet  asked,  in  the  same 
hoarse   voice. 

"I  want  to  marry  Paulina  Lisle." 

"And  to  claim  the  fortune  of  Lady  Charteris?" 

"iSO,  Sir  Vane!  if  I  did  I  should  not  ask  your  aid.  T 
proniide  to  resi^ni  all  claim  upon  Lady  Charteri.s'  estate,  ta 
hand  over  to  you  J*orter's  confession,  on  condition  that  yiju 
con)i)el  Paulina  to  marry  me." 

"(^lorapel !" 

"l^rin^  all  the  influence  'you  and  your  sister  possess  tr 
bear  upon  this  willful  ftirl ;  let  fair  means  be  tried  until 
patience  ceases  to  be  a  virtue.  Then  take  her  to  'The  Firs.' 
I  will  ^o  with  you;  night  and  day  I  shall  plead  my  suit, 
until,  as  constant  dropping  wears  a  stone,  she  yields  at 
lenfi:tli." 

The  baronet  arose,  and  the  two  men  coldly^  shook  hanils 
and  separated. 


* 


* 


"Mrs.  Galbraith,  who  is  to  take  us  to  the  concert  to- 
night?" 

Miss  Lisle  looked  up  from  Le  Follet  to  ask  this  question. 
It  was  the  evening  succeeding  the  ball.  Dinner  was  ov(  i-. 
and,  for  a  wonder.  Lord  Montalien  had  not  dined  at  the  Last 
Cliif. 

"Yesterday  morning,"  pursued  the  heiress,  "it  was  decided 
we  were  to  go  with  Sir  Vane.  Two  hours  ago  Sir  Vane  left 
by  the  express  train  for  London.  Now,  who  is  to  take  us  to 
the  concert  ?" 

The  concert  of  which  the  young  lady  spoke  was  a  concert 

f  more  than  usual  interest  for  her.     Her  love  for  •mu^-'v^ 

anounted  to  a  passion,  and  to-night  the  Signor  Carlo"  Friell- 

son  was  to  make  his  first  appearance.     Iler  heart  had  beeu 

set  upon  going,  as  Mrs.  Galbraith  very  well  knew. 

"Lord  Montalien,  of  course,"  she  said,  in  her  smooth,  even 
voice;  "I  expect  him  every  moment;  and  really,  it  is  al- 
most eight,  and  quite  time  to  dress." 

Miss  Lisle's  eyes  fell  once  more  upon  he  pages  of  Lf 
Folh'i,  anj  Miss  Lisle'o  lips  set  themselves  in  that  reaohite 
line  that  Mrs.  Galbraith  very  well  knew  meant  "breaker!* 
ahead."  ^■„,  -    $¥'■ 

"Paulina,  dear,  you  lieard  meV  in  her  most  dnksei  toned. 


'  I  i 


book  liainU 


coiipcrt   to- 


nkiei  tones. 


In  Which  Miss  Lis!e  is  Disposed  Of.    lOi 

^TMaud,  riiij?  for  Paulina's  maid.  It  is  tinu'  to  dro-^s  for  tlio 
ocTicert.  There  will  bo  aiich  a  crush,  that  it  is  best  to  bo 
early." 

'^Doii't  trouble  yourself,  Maud,"  euid  raulina,  quietly;  "1 
shall  not  go." 

♦'Not  fro,  Paulina?"  i 

Paulina  laid  down  Le  Follet,  and  looked  aoross  at  lier 
cliaperon  with  steady  blue  eyes. 

"I  shall  ixot  go,  Mrs.  (Jalbraith.  More — T  will  never  ffo 
iiiywhere  again  with  Lord  Montalien.  Tf  he  h;id  eoine  here 
to  dine  to-day,  I  should  have  left  the  table.  It  is  quite  out 
of  ni.y  powcT  to  forbid  him  the  house,  or  Sir  Vane's  box  at 
tlie  theatre,  or  you  from  picking  him  up  whenever  we  go  out 
to  drive,  but  what  is  in  my  power  to  do  I  will.  Tt  shall  be 
no  fault  of  mine  if  peox)le  couple  our  names  to^'etlier.  T 
t<il(l  Ix)rd  Montalien  last  night  pretty  plainly  what  I  iliought 
of  him — now  I  tell  you.  Do  not  let  my  whim  make  any 
difference  in  your  plans.  You  and  Maud  are  both  dying  to 
p>  to  the  dchut  of  this  new  Mario.  Go,  bv  all  means — I 
AuiW  not!" 

And  then  she  went  back  to  Le  Fftllct.  All  Mrs.  Galliraith 
cdukl  say  was  of  no  avail.  Miss  Lisle's  ultimatum  had  Ixhmi 
spoken,  all  the  eloquence  of  men  and  angels  would  not  have 
moved  her. 

Lord  Montalien  called,  and  Mrs.  Oalbraitli  and  Maud 
wont.  lie  listened,  with  his  calm  smije,  to  the  story  of 
Paulina'ji  Jieadstrong  cajirice. 


''As  the  queen  pleases,"  he  said,  with  a   shrug; 


« 


a 


littl 


solitude  will  do  her  no  harm.  In  half  an  hour  she  will  be 
frauitic  that  she  has  not  come  " 

Would  she^  The  instant  the  cfirringe  drove  away 
Paulina  jumped  up,  flung  Le  Follpt  across  tlie  room,  and 
rang  a  peal  for  her  maid  that  nearly  broke  down  the  l)ell. 

"Quick,  Jane,"  she  cried;  "dress  me  in  two  minutes,  and 
make  me  as  pretty  as  ever  you  can." 

Her  eyes  were  dancing  now.  ft  was  little,  wild,  mischie'V- 
ous  Polly  Mason  once  more. 

.lane  was  a  well-traiufnl  English  lady's  maid,  and  nothing 
iHi(l(>r  the  canopy  of  heaven  ever  surprised  hef.  She  did 
dross  her  young  mistress  in  ten  minutes,  and  to  perfection. 
Paulina  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass,  and  saw  that  the  flow- 
ing pink  silk,  and  the  long  trailing  cluster  of  lilies  in  lier 
golden  hair  were  exquisite.  Diamond  drops  sparkk'd  in  her 
ears,  soft  illusion  veiled  the  snow-white  bust  and  arms.  Her 
fan  of  pearl  and  rose  silk,  her  bouciuet  of  lilies  and  blush 
roses  lay  side  by  eide.  She  looked  like  a  lily  herslf — tall, 
aUm,  faij^      . 


i»5;i. 


■^ 


I9J   In  Which  Miss  Lisle  is  Disposed  Of 


"Now  my  opoin  rloiik.     (^uick,  June." 

Jane  lluiifj:  If  ovrr  Uvr  shouKlcrs  iind  the  hood  over  li  ■; 
lio;wl.  Mlsa  \ah\c  drew  on  her  j^I(»ves,  |raili(»re(I  np  hor  shivi- 
nitM'iii^r  silk«'n  (rain,  ;ind  swrpt  out  of  tho  honso  with  th  it 
djJiK'ii)^'  Iif,''ht  in  Ikm-  «'y(>s,  that  provoking  sniik;  on  lier  lii>s. 

Sho   li'ippod   (h)wn   the   front   steps   and  ah)njj:  the   lanipliL 
fltroot    for  a  few  .yt'rds.     Then  she   ran^  tlio  hell  of  a  hn'm? 
Iiousc,  and  was  afhnitcil  hy  a  fool  man. 
•    "Is   Mrs.   Atclirrl.v  at  liomc^"  she  asked. 

"What!  Tanliiia!"'  cxchiimcti  a  hidy,  in  tho  act  of  cro^- 
iiif^'  (ho  hall,  in  fnll  cvonin^- (h'oss — "here!  alone!  and  at  tlii-> 
honr!      I  thonuht  yon  wen>  ^oin^-  to  the  concert?'' 

'So    I    am,  dear    Mrs.    Atcheriy,    if  you   will    take    me?     [ 
would  !K»t  miss  it  for  a  kingdom.      You  are  all  ready,  1  see    - 
how  tVutunate  I  am  n<'t  to  he  to()  la(e." 
V       "Hnt,  my  love— Mrs.  (Jalhraith " 

"Mrs.  (Jalhraith  has  frone,  and  Maud  and  Lord  Montalit  m. 
I'll  tell  you  all  ahout  it  as  we  fxo  alon^.  IMease  don't  let  us 
he  too  late." 

Mrs.  (Jolonel  Atcheriy,  a  stately  matron,' her  (huij?hter  ind 
her  hushand,  descended  to  the  cari'iaji'c.  On  the  way  Pau- 
lina whisi»cred  the  story  of  her  insuhcrdination  into  the  ehiir 
lady's  ear. 

"You  know  how  T  detest  Lord  Montalien,  Mrs,  Atcheriy. 
T  couldn't  go  with  him,  and  T  should  die — yes,  I  should,  if  1 
missed  hearing  the  Signor  Friellson.  What  will  they  say 
when  they  see  me?" 

"That  you  are  a  hare-brained  damsel.  What  a  lecture  Mrs. 
Galhraith  will  read  you  to-morrow!" 

They  reached  the  pavilion.  The  curtain  had  fallen  upon 
the  first  act  as  the  Atcheriy  party  swept  along  to  their  hox. 
Sir  Vane's  was  nearly  opposite,  and  the  glasses  of  LoiJ 
Montalien  and  the -baronet's  sister  fell  together  upon  wickiil 
Paulina. 


Good  Heavens!"  Mrs.  Oalbraith  gasped,  "can  I  bel 


«n 


i(n'i> 


my  eyes!" 

Lord  Montalien  burst  out  laughing.  Though  the  joke  tuld 
against  him,  yet  Mrs.  Galhraith's  face  of  horror  was  not  l«> 
be  resisted.  " 

"It  is  Paulina!"  cried  the  lady.  "Lord  Montalien,  is  it 
possible  you  can  laugh?" 

"1  beg  one  thousand  pardons,"  the  peer  said,  still  laujili 
ing.     "It  is  the  best  joke  of  the  season!     And,  egad!  she  i-! 
more  beautiful  than  ever  I  saw  her!" 

"She  has  the  grace  at  least  not  too  look  this  way.  IInw 
dare  she  do  so  outrageous  a  thingi     I  will  never  forgive  her.' 

All  th«  lorgnettes  in  the  house  turned  to  the  Atcherlj  box 


over  li  •• 
luM*  shi'  1- 
kvitli  til  :'. 
icr  lii>s. 
e  laniplit, 
f  a  liiiM' 


of  cro-=i- 
11(1  nt  tin- 

e   mo  ?     I 

ly,  I  s<'»'   - 


Vrontnlirii. 
)ii't  let  us 

ifjjhtor  riiid 
way  Paii- 
)  the  el(l>r 

1   Ateherl.v. 
lould,  if  1 
they  say 

c'tuve  Mis. 

Ion  uix'ii 
their  h<>x. 
of   Loll 
on  wiekifl 

I  believ.' 

joke  told 
vas  not  to 

lien,  is  it 

till  lan^li 
ad!  she  i- 

ay.  llnw- 
give  her.' 
cherly  box 


»n  V^^ich  Miss  Lisle  is  Disposed  Of.    19) 

—  nian.v  to  tin*  K''eat  ludre  -  -'iia'i^  more  to  l!i<'  noM*^  and 
Jovcly  li(ii<l.  (^iptain  Viilicrs  left  hi?»  .scat,  in  iJie  Htnlls  and 
jofiic  tier,  and  until  tlio  curtain  foil  upon  the  last  not  an 
aninui.cd  ilirtation  was  kepi  up.  'i  hen  .Miss  Li^lo.  tltin^ 
her  boufiuet  to  tlie  fllioer-vsful  tono:*,  and  took  tlie  (iuarda- 
nnuTrt  arm  t<»  tho  ciirrla^c. 

"Mr^^.  Atcliorly,''  A\o  said.  Iau«:hin}r1y,  "your  ^r"o<lMess  em- 
boldens UK!  to  a.-k  still  an  itlu'r  f'av<;r.  Will  you  ke<'p  nie  all 
ui^lit  ^  I'crhaps,  if  Mr-i.  (1  illiraith  ile^^ps  on  her  wrath,  it 
will  fall  less  heavily  ui>on  iu2  tomorrow." 

MisH  Lisle  did  not  return  hntnc  all  uit,''ht.  Next  morning 
Sir  Vane  returned,  and  was  informed  of  the  reh.lUtnis  and 
uida-ard-of  (onduet  ol  his  ward. 

The  baronet's  anger  W'HP^  scmtpoIv  less  than  that  of  hi.s 
sister.  lie  went  at  once  for  her;  and  no  death's-head  ever 
looked  more  grim  than  lie  jm  lie  l-'-d  he  r  home. 

•'And  now,  Miss  Lisle,''  he  aslvod,  sornly.  "may  I  demand 
an  explanation  of  this  disgraceful  eondnet  f" 

"Disgraeeful,  Sir  Vane!  1  don't  (luiti-  see  that;  I  went  to 
the  eoneert  beeauso  1  want<'d  to  g(j  to  the  eoneert,  and  \  did 
Hot  go  with  Mrs.  (lalbraith  because  Lord  ^l(»ntalien  w;is  her 
eseort,     1  hope  thai  is  satisfa(;tory !" 

"It  is  not  satisfactory.  I  rojieat  it;  your  conduct  has  been 
dis^Taceful." 

"Sir  Vane,  you  may  ubc  that  word  oncf«  loo  often.  Xeilher 
low.  nor  at  any  future  time,  sliall  Lord  MontalicMi  appear  in 
public  with  me." 

"Lord  Montalien  has  done  you  rno  honor  to  propose  to  you. 
It  is  my  desire — my  connnand — that  you  shall  accept  him.'f 

iMiss  Lisle  smiled  (juietiy  and  took  a  seat. 

"Lord*  Montalien  iias  h.id  ii  coinplaint  against  me.  has  Iio, 
and  my  giiardian's  jjower  h  to  be  brouglit  to  bear  in  his 
favor '^  Sir  Vnne,  tuke  my  advice  and  spare  yourself  a  great 
deal  of  useless  rlu  torlc  ami  breath.  If  Lord  .Montalien  were 
the  ruler  of  the  v;orld,  and  my  lite  depended  on  it,  I  would 
lay  my  head  on  the  bloek  sooner  than  marry  him!  f  hopo 
that  is  conclusive!  I  will  never  step  across  his  thr 'shold, 
or  sit  at  the  same  table  with  him.  I  will  not  g4<  down  t/> 
Montalien  at  Christmas.      I  ho])c  that  is  eoncUisive !" 

"Tlien  hear  me,"  eried  her  guardian,  whit«'  with  anger. 
"Until  you  do  speak  to  him,  sit  at  the  same  ^''hle  with  hiiu, 
and  consent  to  marry  him,  you  s-iall  remaiii  in  your  room 
w;!t('hed.  The  escapade  of  lar-.t'r.ij^lit  shalhnot  accuv  again. 
Solitary     confinement,     perhaps,    will    teach    you    ohe<liencH. 


11: 


N 


OW   go  I 


t» 


Mias  Lisle  rose  at  once.     TTe  had  expceted  an  outburst  .  f 
iiidi^rnant  protest  and  ixassion,  but  who  was  to  judge  iLi^ 

•1 


194 


ff 


A  New  Way  to  Pay  OH  Debts/' 


irir]?  She  pn{  up  T^■itll  fl  p''' ^^'l^i'iK  ^^milo  on  Ikt  fflvT,  aud 
vvalk»Mi  straight  out  of  tlio  ruuiu."  lu  tlic  duurway  uhc 
paused. 

"I  liavo  oidy  ono  roquf^t  to  niM^c,"  slic  said,  still  with  that 
pr()Vokill^^  sinilr;  "iUm.-t  dor^t  fct d  iiic  on  hrcaii  and  wnter. 
1  sliouldn't  IIIk;  to  firow  uuy  thiiUHT,  and  do  hv  kind  to  poor 
littlo  I'aiulorc!  (hc^r  roodlo).  For  tho  refit,  Sir  Vane,  I  hoar 
but  to  oboy." 

She:  wen*:  Up  lo  her  room'=«.  Slio.had  tlii-eo  on  the  sunify 
RouthciJi  side  I't'droon',  dressing-room  and  sitting  room. 
8ho  glaiicf'd  around.  Heaps  of  hooks  and  magazines  wore 
everywhere,  heaps  of  P>(»rlin  wool,  and  beadwork,  heaps  of 
nmsic  and  a  pirtno.  She  risng  the  hell,  and  wl'  n  lier  maid 
eanio  slie  pt('j)ed  out   through  a  crevices  in  the  door. 

"flane,'*  she  said,  with  soh'innity,  'Tm  a  ]»ri^oner  here,  and 
t^)  prevent  tlie  pospihility  of  my  escape  I  am  going  to  hjck 
myself  in!  You  will  fetch  me  my  nie-ds,  niul  when  you  wiint 
anythin.iif,  Jane,  you  will  raj),  you  know,  and  tell  me  through 
the  keyhole.*' 

8Ir  Vaiio  had  followed  her  and  heard  every  word  of  this 
whimsical  speech. 

'^What  is  to  1k'  done  w  lh  such  a  girl  as  thai  ?"  the  haronet 
demancknl  of  his  sister;  '*shc  is  afraid  of  notliing— imprison- 
ment, solitude — notliin^;-,  I  say.     Jlear  her  now!" 

Mis=^  Lisle  was  seated  at  lier  piano,  and  her  high,  sweet 
BingiU;?  echoed   through  the  house. 

"Paulina  Lisle  is  danirerous."  Mrs.  GHlhr;ilth  said,  with 
emphasis;  "that  girl  is  capable  of  anything  when  fally 
aroused." 

Mrs.  CJalhraith  was  right.  She  and  her  brotl^pr  were 
speedily  to  learn  of  what  Paulina  Lisle  was  capaWe! 


CTTAPTER  VIL 
"a  new  way  to  pay  old  debts.*' 

It  A7as  the  twentieth  of  December. 

Francis,  Lord  Montalien,  rose  from  the  luxurious  dinner 
iji  his  bachelor  apartments,  prepared  by  a  first-rate  French 
artist,  and  wilkcd  into  his  reception-room.  Lord  Montalien's 
lodgings  \fere  on  the  s"»Hiny  side  of  8t.  James  street,  and  rather 
more  luxurior-,  if  po^^sible  than  th?  apartments  of  a  youii£» 
duch(r«s.  lie  had  but  coi^a  from  a  funeral  a  few  hours  be- 
fore, the  funeral  of  his  vich  grandaimt.  Miss  Eerlscourt. 
After  the  funeral  the  will  had  been  read  in  the  lawyBi^s  office 
the  will  tha^  V>  the  utter  amaze  of  everybody  save  the  lav 


i 


A  iNew  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts  '*     195 

y«»r  Jiinl  lt'p:k»t«M'.  Icf'  i-r\  sliilliui,'  s)u'  l)osv♦.s^Pfi  to  }ur  t-Mer 
iirphc'W,  1  'U'd  Mdiiiii.M  :  .  liuy  ji ..'1  lufti  cut  oi\  witli'iuf  •'Wii 
ti  «uin«rt  u>  buy  a  un'uniin^f  riiiv;,  "tor  his  <'vil  courses,"  \\w 
Afcill  ptiiiifrdly  said — tl)o  shaiMiful  (ouiscs  waich,  for  llu*  t'lr^l 
linH',  1»!mI  ljro»i><lit  di->;rju't(  \i»)on  the  iiaiiH-  af  I'larlscourt. 

Ill  fli.it  hour  of  triiitiiph  the  rhlor  lirolhcr  h;id  cast,  in  spito 
ut  himself,  one  Khinco  (»f  lriuiii|>li  at  the  di-^iidu'ritcd  favur- 
itc.  (Juy  stood  perfectly  «;idrM — it  wmh  his  de  itli-w:irraiit  ho 
heard  read,  hut  lut!  a  iiiiisch'  moved;  his  liaudsdiin'  iTice 
looki'ii  as  serenely,  a-  eo'dly  indifferent  as  ihoiii^h  he  liad  half 
a  iiiilliuii  or  so  at  his  h.MikriV.  And  Lord  Mout.ilieTi  had 
set  his  t(»efh  with  an  inward  (»alh--lie  could  not  coiKpn  r  him 
— iu  the  hour  of  his  «l<»wnfall  ho  rose  above  him  still. 

'•(Jurse    him!"    ho   hisseii;    "I    always   hatetl    him    for    his 

d d   patrician    beauty  and   lanvrm^r,   his  air   nohh'.  ;n  tlio 

Women  calT  it,  and  his  insutferable  insojeiiee,  and  I  hate  him 
more  now,  in  Ids  utter  downfall,  than  I  ever  did  before.  I 
wisli  h(;  worf>  la  re,  that  I  nii^'bt  for  once  throw  off  the  mask 
and  tell  liiin  »(»." 

The  mn>tc'r  )h*  served  seeinod   iiK'linod  to  let  him   have  his 
way  in    this  as   in    all   otiur  things.     The  wish    had   scarcely* 
taken   shajie,   when   tli(»  door  was  tlun^  open,  and   his  juroom 
of  the  chambers  announced  "iMr.  KarNcourt." 

Lord  Montalien  paus<'d  in  his  walk,  an<l,  crossinf^  over  to 
the  chinirieypiece,  leanerl  his  arm  upf)n  it,  and  looked  full  at 
his  brother,  that  exultant,  Satanic  smile  brij^ht  yi^t  on  his 
face.  J  To  l)ad  this  last  desire,  as  lie  had  had  all  others;  tho 
man  ho  hated,  and  whom  he  had  helped  to  ruin,  stood  before 
him,  in  tho  dark  hour  of  his  life. 

(Juy  camo  slowly  forward  nwd  stood  directly  of)posite  to 
him,  at  tho  other  end  of  the  mantel.  Ile»  too,  won?  mourn- 
ing:, his  face  was  very  prravc,  very  hnf.':p:ard,  very  pale.  r>ark 
circles  surrounded  his  ey(v.,  but  that  noble  air,  which  his 
brother  so  hated,  had  not  h'ft  him.  Tie  looked  handsomer, 
nobler,  now  in  his  utter  downfall,  beyond  all  co!ri{)arison, 
than  the  w<'althy,  the  well-reimtcd  T.ord  if  Montalien.  And 
Francis  Earlscourt  saw  it  and  kn<w  it. 

"Well,  Ouy,"  he  began,  slowly,  "and  so  the  worst  has  come. 
Have  you  visited  me  to  congratulate  leC,  or  to  ask  my  sy^tn- 
pathy    for  your   own    great    misfortune?      Who   would    have 
thought  Afiss  Farlscourt  would  have  had  the  heart  to  disin 
herit   her  favorite?'* 

Tho  mocking  toi;.e,   fhe   oxultan-   look,  were   indescribable. 

Guy  lifted  his  dark  eye:   and  loo.cd  stenlHly  across  at  him. 

"It  must  have  b*3en  a  tremendous  blow,"  the  elder  con- 
tinued; "it  WiK.  your  ias^  hope.     Perhape,  though,  I':  is  not 


196     *^A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  DeHs 


9* 


t'.. 


i.i  ■■ :  i 


aw,  ,!gi        ,.r 


your  \i\'^i  lio])o;  .;<  rhnps  you  have -conic  to  me  to. help  you  iB 
J'ftur  liour  (f  lire;!/' 

"No,  Frank."'  Uuy  said,  (luietly,  "I  have  fallen  very  low, 
but  my  misfortunes,  or  evil  courses,  which  you  will,  have  not 
(juitc  turned  my  brain.  I  have  never  asked  you  for  a  far- 
ihinj^:  ret,  and  T  never  will.'' 

"And  yet,  you  remember  after  our  father's  death,  I  told 
yon  to  come  to  me  in  your  hour  of  need,  and  I  would  assist 
you.  You  were  your  father's  favorite,  Guy;  you  are  the  son 
of  tlie  wife  he  loved ;  he  left  you  all  he  had  to  leave.  I  won- 
der hov/  he  would  feel  if  he  saw  yoii  novv?" 

"We  will  leave  his  name  out  of  the  discussion,  if  you 
please.  And  as  neither  now  nor  at  any  past  time  I  ever 
troubled  your  purse  or  your  brotherly  aifection,  you're  hit- 
ting a  man  v^hen  he'«  down  is  in  very  bad  taste,  to  say  the 
least  of  it.  I  have  neither  3ome  here  to-night  for  symjiathy 
nor  money  I  know  how  much  of  either  I  would  get  or  de- 
serve to  jj^et.     Shall  I  tell  you  why  I  have  come?" 

"By  all  means — to  say  farewell,  perhaps,  on  the  eve  of 
your  lifelong  exile.  What  place  of  refuge  have  you  chosen — 
Algeria,  Australia,  New  Zealand,  America?  I  should  really 
like  to  know!" 

"I  did  not  come  to  say  farewell.  I  came  to  speak  to  you 
of — Alice   Warren." 

The  elder  brother  started  at  the  unexpected  sound  of  tliat 
luime.  Not  once  had  he  seen  her  since  the  night  he  had  vis- 
ited her  in  Barton   street. 

"Alice  Warren,"  he  said,  with  an  oath;  "what  has  Alice 
Warren  to  do  with  it  ?  Do  you  expect  me  to  look  after  your 
cast-off  mistress  when  you  are  gone?" 

"I  expect  nothing  of  you — nothing — how  often  must  I  re- 
peat it?  And  Alice  Warren  is  no  mistress  of  ^nine — of  any 
man's,  I  believe  in  my  soul.  Whatever  she  is,  you  are-  the 
scoundrel  who  has  led  her  astray,  under  promise  of  marriage. 
Hear  me  out,  my  lord;  I  have  come  to  be  heard,  an<'  will.  If 
you  have  one  spark  of  manhood  left,  you  will  atone  in  some 
way  for  the  great  wrong  you  have  done  an  innocent  girl. 
You  will  not  leave  the  fresh  face  you  wooed  down  in  Lin- 
colnshire exj)osed  to  the  disgrace  of  London  gaslight." 

"I  shall  do  precisely  as  I  please  in  this,  as  in  all  other 
things.  It  is  refreshing,  really,  to  hear  you,  of  all  men,  the 
defender  of  female  innocence,  of  soiled  doves,  such  as  Alice 
Warren." 

"At  least  no  innocent  girl's  ruin  lies  at  my  door,  no  man's 
betrayal.  I  repeat,  if  you  have  one  spark  of  manhood  left, 
you  "ill  atono  for  the  wro»ng  you  have  done  her." 

"As  how  ?"  with  his  sneering  amiie;  "by  a  real  marriage— 


you  IE 

^ry  low, 
lave  not 
:  a  far- 

,  I  told 

Id  a.-sist 

the  sou 

I  won- 

,  if  you 
}  I  evor 
u're  bit- 
I  say  the 
ympathy 
et  or  de- 

e  eve  of 
chosen — • 
lid  really 

,k  to  you 

d  of  that 
had  vis- 

las  Alice 
ftcr  your 

ust  I  re- 
! — of  any 
1  are-  the 
marriage, 
will.  If 
in  some 
ent  girl, 
in  Lin- 
it." 

all  other 

men,  the 

as  Alice 

no  man's 
hood  left, 

arriage— 


••A  >Jew  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts/'     197 

make  the  hailiiT's  diuKhtcr  my  I.ady  Moiitali-ti  ?  M.^y  1  a-^k 
when  you  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  l.idy  l.i^t.  and  ff 
she  connnissioned  you  to  conic  here  and  plead  her  ''a^c?" 

"1  f.aw  lior  two  hours  ago,  and  she  comniissioncd  me  to  do 
nothing  of  the  sort.  I  was  walking  along  tlie  Stra;.  1  wilh 
Gus  Stedman,  and  we  camo  face  to  fac(^  witli  poor  A!:'-e.  I 
should  not  have  known  her — she  has  become  such  a  /re.elied 
shadow  of  herself.  If  ever  a  heart  was  hntken,  1  believe  Imts 
to  be.  By  Heaven,  Frank,  it  is  a  cruel  shanu — ii  vou  iiad 
murdered  her  in  cold  blood  you  could  not  be  more  guilty 
than  you  are !" 

The  sneering  smile  never  left  the  other's  face,  though  he 
was  pallid  with  supjfre.ssed  passion.  lie  took  up  his  eig;ir 
case  and  lit  a  ^lanilla,  though  his  hands  shook  as  he  did  it. 

"And  she  told  you,  no  doubt,  a  piteous  story  of  my  be- 
trayal and  my  baseness — or  is  all  this  accusation  but  the 
figment  of  your  own  lively  brain  i"^ 

"She  told  me  nothing;  she  is  true  to  you,  false  as  you  hi've 
been  to  her.  We  scarcely  exchanged  words — she  seemed  !o 
have  something  to  say  to  Stedman,  and  1  walked  off,  and  Irft 
them.  It  is  of  no  use  your  wearing  a  mask  with  me.  Wluu 
Alice  Warren  came  up  to  London  last  Septend)er,  p(  or,  cred- 
ulous child,  it  was  to  become  your  wife." 

"You  are  right!"  exclaimed  Lord  Montalieti,  suddenly; 
"and  I  will  throw  off  the  mask  wtih  you,  iny  virtue-preaching 
younger  brother!  In  that  other  land  to  which  your — mis- 
fortunes are  driving  you,  you  might,  with  p-easure  to  yoiir 
self  and  profit  to  your  hearers,  turn  Metliodi-^t  parson  the 
role  seems  to  suit  you  amazingly.  I  shall  deal  witli  .Mice 
Warrer.  exactly  as  T  please,  and  for  niarriagv',  I  slinll  marry 
Paulina  Lisle!" 

"Poor  Paulina,"  Cluy  said,  bitterly.  ^'May  Heaven  kc(>p 
her  from  such  a  fate  I" 

"You  believe  in  Heaven?  At  least  It  has  not  dealt  very 
kindly  by  you.  T  s-hall  marry  Pauli)ia  i.isle  and  lu  r  for- 
tune; and  it  will  he  the  delighlfu!  occupation  of  my  li!(  to 
break  that  high  spirit  while  you  are  hrt-ak'ng  s.oms  oi,  i  he 
roads  out  there  in  Australia.  ¥(^r  Alice  Warren,  slie  will 
far(^  none  the  better  for  yoi»r  pdvocacy.  l.er  u-  -,)>"'!;  r-t' 
yourself — I  really  feel  ati  interest  in  yi  ur  fate,  thoimli  you 
may  not  believe  it.  You  have  ^ent  in  your  pa;:ers  to  >c]l, 
T  suppose?  You  are  not  mad  enough  to  try  rtn<l  rcmi'.i  in 
England?" 

(luy  bowed  his  licad  in  asse!it,,and  turned  t<o  go, 

"Pray,  do  not  b'^^  in  sui-h  haste — I  have  not  half  tinislied 
what  1  desire  to  say  to  you.  Have  you  chosen  as  yet  the 
place  of  your  outlawry  t" 


'. '  ♦ 


198     *'A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts.'' 

''T]u>  place  of  my  outlawry  is  a  inatter  that  in  no  way  coih 
L'vnis  you.'' 

''V('ry  true;  and  what  dct'S  it  signify — America,  Australia, 
A!;i<-ria — i'  is  all  the  , same.  But  don't  you  feel  a  curiosity 
lo  kiiow  how  you  came  to  he  disinherited?  Most  men  would, 
{  'li  i  k;  and  you  were  t^uch  a  favorite  with  old  Miss  Earls- 
coiTt,  as  with  all  women,  young  and  old,  indeed." 

"'J'hrou<.Th  your  hrothorly  kindness,  Frank,  no  doubt." 

**(^uite  right — through  my  brotherly  kindness.  l>ut  for 
ine  you  would  to-day  be  heir  to  our  lamented  maiden  aunt's 
large  fortune,  able  to  snap  your  fingers  in  the  faces  of  the 
Jews,  and  marry  Paulina  Lisle  yourself,  if  you  desired  it. 
She  was  ready  to  forgive  ^'ou,  seventy  times  seven,  to  pay 
your  de!)ts  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,  and  leave  you  all  when 
she  died — but  for  me! — but  for  me!  Shall  I  tell  you,  Guy, 
how  I  did  it  ?" 

"If  you  please." 

"By  means  of  the  girl  whose  case  yon  have  come  here  to 
plead — by  means  of  Alice  Warren.  Your  gambHng,  your 
;lrinking,  your  mad  extravagance  in  every  Avay,  she  Wi!--  ])r(> 
pared  to  forgive  and  condone,  but  not  the  luring  from  home, 
under  pretense  of  marriage,  and  ruin  of  a  young  and  virtu- 
ous girl,  whose  father  nil  his  life  had  loved  and  served  you 
and  yours!  T  went  to  her  two  weeks  ago,  my  brilliant,  care- 
less (luy,  and  I  told  her  this.  I  made  her  believe  this,  tha 
only  thing  tha>:  could  have  ruined  you;  and  that  nig  it  she 
tore  up  the  will  that  left  you  all — you  hear — all! — and  made 
me  her  heir!" 

He  paused.  Satan  himself,  triumphing  over  a  lot  t  soul, 
could  not  have  looked  more  diabolically  exultant,  r  or  Guy, 
liQ  listened,  his  elbow  on  the  marble  mantel,  his  calm,  pale 
face  unmoved,  his  eyes  fixed  steadfastly  on  his  only  brother's 
face. 

"You  did  this,"  he  said,  slowly.  "I  know  you  always 
hated  me,  but  I  did  not — no,  I  did  not  think,  base  as  I 
know  you  to  be,  that  you  were  capable  of  thil.  Frank," 
with  a  sudden  change  of  tone,  "will  you  tell  me  why  you 
have  hated  me?  I  have  been  a  worthless  fellow>  b"^t  I  neveT 
injured  you." 

"Did  you  not?"  I-ord  Montalien  ground  out,  with  a  deep 
oath.  "Why,  curse  you,  T  believe  I  have  haied  you  from 
your  cradle!  You  were  the  Isaac,  I  the  Ishmacl;  you  the 
prttcil.  the  caressed,  the  admired — I  the  unlicked  cub,  the 
.nlovcd  son  of  an  unloved  mother!  T  have  hated  yen  for 
that  beauty  which  v>^omen  have  so  admired,  for  the  taleii's 
an<l  acvomplishments  that  have  rendered  you  a  favorite  with 
men;  and  I  swore  to  tave  re  jnge — and  I  have  had  it.    Your 


sp 

8t( 
Wf 
hr 
W 

an 


8p( 

hei 


fa( 


one 


coib 

alia, 
jsity 
:)uld, 
larls- 


t  for 
unt's 
f  the 
:k\  it. 
3  pay 
when 
Guy, 


ere  to 
your 

2?  Y)rc- 
hoine, 
virtn- 
3(1  you 
,  care- 
is,  tha 
it  she 
i  mdtlo 

soul, 
r  Guy, 
n,  pale 
■other's 

always 
io  as  I 
^rank," 
hy  you 
I  novoT 

a  deep 
u   from 

ou  the 
ub,  the 
you   foT 

taleii'!^ 
ite  with 


'*A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts."     199 

brilliant  life  is  over;  you  .  iv  a  be^gnr;  yen  a:o  forth  to 
exile  and  outhnniy  and  (li>i,n-aco — to  starve  or  work  in  a  for- 
eign land!  And  tlie  title,  and  the  weaUh,  an<l  ihe  l-mm'I  re- 
pute are  mine!  lias  nu)ro  ;j()t  to  be  said^  i  wid  rnirry 
IV.ulinii  Lisle  before  thf  next  London  season,  and  Aliee  V/ar 
rcu  nniy  go,  as  you  have  gone,  to  perdition.  Mr.  Guy  Kails- 
court,  permit  nie  to  wish  you  good-night!" 
•  IIo  rang  the  bell. 

"Show  Mr.  Karlseourt  tu  the  (ln,,r,"  he  -aid  to  the  servant, 
^'and  admit  liini  hej'c  no  more  I" 

He  could  not  forbear  this  last  in>ult.  With  (nie  look — a 
look  not  soon  to  be  forgotten — (luy  went  forth,  never  to  eroas 
that  threshold  again. 

"And  now  for  Berkeley  Square  and  Paulirui!"  exelaiinod 
Lord  ^VFontalien,  taking  up  his  greatcoat.  *'\Ve  will  see 
what  frame  of  mind  that  obstinate  little  beauty  is  in  to- 
night!" 

But  he  was  not  to  go  yet.  The  door  opened  once  more,  and 
the  groom  of  the  chambers  ap{)eared,  with  a  disturbed 
countenance. 

"j\Iy  lord,  there  is  a  young  i)erson  here  who  says  she  must 
see  you.    I  have  remonstrated -'" 

lie  stopped  aghast.  The  young  person  had  had  the  au- 
dacity to  follow  him,  and  stood  now  upon  the  threshold.  It 
was  Alice! 

"That  will  do,  Kobinson;  I  will  ^ee  this  wonian !     CJo!" 

The  groom  of  the  elunnbers  vanished,  closing  the  door 
after  him,  and  dropping  the  heavy  curtain  of  erinisoii  cloth 
that  effectually  shut  in  every  sound;  and  Aliee,  wan  as  a 
S})irit,  covered  with  snow,  with  wild  eyes  and  ghastly  face, 
stood  before  Lord  !Montalien  in  all  his  splendor.  His  face 
was  literally  black  with  rage.  lie  hatod  her,  he  loathed  her, 
ho  had  forbidden  lujr  in  the  r'lo-t  emphatic.'  manner  ever  to 
write  to  him  or  intrude  upon  him,  and  she  had  had  the 
audacity   to  force  li(M'  way  hei'e ! 

"llovv  dare  you!"  he  saiil,  under  his  breath,  as  he  always 
spoke  v^hen  his  passion  was  greatest — "how  dare  you  come 
here?" 

She  was  trembling  with  cold.  Slie  was  miserably  clad  and 
fatigued,  but  he  offered  her  no  chair,  did  not  bid  b"r  ap- 
proach the  fire.  She  remained  stamling  near  tlie  door,  h'-r 
face,  awfully  corpselike,  tnnie(I  uixni  him. 

"Wliy  have  you  come  here?"  he  thundered.  "Speak  at 
once — why  have  you  dared  +o  come  here?" 

"I  have  come  for  justice,  L(jrd  ?\lontalien.  1  am  your 
wife,  and  you  leave  me  to  starve!  I  am  your  wife,  and  an 
outcast  from  home  and  friends!    Frank  1  Frank  1" — her  voice 


.  ,1  ■ 

i 

V 

1      ■ 
■i 

m 

1; 

* 


:>..'L 


••  > 


200    ''\  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts." 

rising  to  a  ?}jii]l  ci'y — "I  havo  not  scp.i  you  for  six  week.^--= 
1  liiid  to  come  lure— I   should   havf  jr(»iM:  mad  or  died  i     A 
had  not  c!onio." 

"It  lii  a  pity  you  did  not!"  hn  hrutally  answered.  "Go 
mad  and  die — the  sooner  the  better;  lut  don't  come  torment- 
ing nie  with  the  sight  of  your  niiseralde,  white  face." 

She  clasped  both  luMids  over  her  heart  and  staggered  as 
though  he  had  given  her  a  blow;  her  lips  moved,  but  no 
Bound  came  forth. 

"What  do  you  mean  by   coming  here  for  justice,  as  you 
call   it  J"   he   went   on.     "Justice    means   money,   I    suppose. 
Well,  here  are  ten  guineas — take  them,  and  pay  your  bill, 
and  begone !'' 

She  rallied  again;  after  an  effort  or  two  words  came  from 
her  aslien  lii)s: 

"I  came  for  justice,  an<1  T  must  liave  it — I  am  your  wife 
— your  lawful,  wedded  wife — why,  tlien,  are  you  trying  to 
marry   Paulina  l.isle^" 

He  strode  a  ste{>  toward  lier,  then  stopped. 

"Who  has  told  you  this'"  he  cried,  with  suppressed  fury.  ' 

"Mr.  Stedman.  I  met  him  to-day — he  told  me  you  were 
engaged  to  marry  Paulina  l.isie,  and  would  marry  her. 
Frank,  it  must  not,  shall  not  be!  T  can  bear  a  great  deal, 
but  not  that.  1  love  Paulina;  she  shall  never  be  ruined  as  I 
have  been.  You  shall  own  me  before  the  world  as  what  I 
am — your  lawful  wife,,  or  1  will  go  io  her  and  tell  her  all." 

There  was  that  in  her  fac<',  in  h(^r  eyes,  in  her  tone,  a 
firmness,  a  resolution,  ho  had  never  seen  there  before.  The 
crushed  worm  had  turned;  he  knew  she  meant  what  she  had 
said. 

"You  will  do  this!"  he  exclaimed,  hoarsely, 

"I  swear  I  will!  My  heart  is  broken,  my  life  ruineil-'^that 
is  past  hope — you  hate  me,  and  wish  to  cast  me  off.  But 
she  shall  be  saved — my  good  name  shall  be  saved.  Unless 
before  this  year  ends  you  promise  to.  proclaim  me  as  your 
wife,  I  will  go  to  Paulina  Lisle  and  tell  her  all." 

"Then  go!"  he  burst  forth,  in  his  fury;  "go — weak,  drivel- 
ing, miserable  fool!  My  wife!  Why,  you  idiot,  you  have 
never  been  that  for  one  hour,  for  one  second.  The  man  who 
married  us  was  no  clergyman,  but  a  w(»rthle  ,  drunken  va- 
grant, who  entered  into  the  plot  with  Stedman  and  me.  My 
wife!  Faugh!  T  was  mad  enough,  but  never  half  mad 
enough  to  <lo  that!  Now  you  know  the  truth  at  last — no 
iuore  my  wife  than  any  streetwalker  in  London.  Go  to  your 
friend,  Mr.  Stedman,  and  he  will  indorse  my  words." 

There  was  a  ''^•■^'^  near  her — eh©  grasped  it  to  keep  from 


"D 

gerin; 

upon 

many 

What 

fellow 

stead 

Miss 

born 

what 

and 

fortal 

a  nig! 

out  tl 

,.  ^^'' 

n'en   ( 

"Tl 
in  a  c 


"A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  DeMs.'*     201 

falling,  and  in  the  licig'hl  of  his  mad  fur^  ':c  liad  to  shift 
away  from  tlie  gaze  of  llic  lar^c,  horror-' ruck  vyvs. 

"5sot   ills  wifcl"  she  wliispcred;  "not  his  wife!" 

*'\ot  my  wife,  I  swear  it  I  I  did  iK.t  nxan  \<,  tell  you 
until  1  liad  g<)i  you  (|uietly  out  (d"  llie  coinury.  hut  as  weH 
now  as  hiter.  And,  mark  you — if  vou  '^o  near  I'aniina  Lisle 
—I  will— kill  you!" 

The  last  words  came  hissin^^  llirongh  his  set  teeth. 

"Not  his  wife,"  she  repoaled  '.nco  more,  in  a  sort  of  whis- 
per; "not  his  wife!" 

Sh(^  turned  hlindly  toward  the  door,  grooinpr  like  one  in 
the  dark.     He  lifted  the  eurtain,  and  opened   it  for  her. 

"(Jet  a  jL'uh,  and  go  home,"  he  said.  "I  will  call  ujjon  you 
in  a  day  or  two,  and  see  what  can  he  done.  I  will  prctvide 
for  you,  have  no  fear  of  that.  Jlere  is  the  money — go  hack 
<iuietly  and  wait  until  1  eome." 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  or  heed  him.  She  never  notieed 
the  money  he  offered.  Slie  w(  nt  forward  in  the  same  hlind 
way,  the  servant  looking  at  her  curiously,  and  passed  from 
the  lu.xurious  wealth  and  light  of  those  eostly  rooms  to  the 
bitter,  drifting  snowstorm  without. 

"So  niueli  the  better,""  muttered  his  lordship;  "if  she  p(T- 
isli  in  the  storm  it  will  save  me  a  world  of  trouble.  Half-past 
nine!     The  devil's  in  it,  if  I  cannot  go  to  Paulina  now!" 

The  devil  was  in  it — he  was  apt  to  be,  horns  and  hoofs  and 
all  in  the  same  room  with  Fraticis,  Lord  Montalien.  Hifore 
his  wraps  were  on,  the  <lof)r  was  Hung  open  for  the  third 
time,  and  Mr.  Stedman  announced. 

"Didn't  exj^eet  to  see  nie,  old  boy!"  his  visitor  said,  swag- 
gering in  with  easy  familiarity.  "(Joing  out,  too,  to  call 
upon  the  lovely  Paulina,  no  doubt.  Well,  T  wc^i't  detain  you 
many  minutes.  So  let  us  sit  down  and  be  comfortable. 
What  a  cozy  erib  you  have  here.  I'rank,  and  what  a  lucky 
fellow  you  are!  All  Miss  Karlscourt'^ money  left  to  you,  in- 
stead of  that  unfortunate  beggar,  (iuy.  And  now  the  rich 
iMiss  Lisle  is  goiiig  to  marry  you,  they  say.  It's  better  to  be 
born  lucky  than  rich,  but  when  a  man's  both  lucky  and  rich, 
what  an  enviable  mortal  he  is!  Ah!  the  world's  a  seesaw, 
and  some  of  us  go  up  and  some  of  us  go  down!  flow  coui- 
fortable  this  coal  fire  is  such  a  night-  the  very  dickens  of 
a  night,  rean  tell  you.  Hy  the  by,  who  <lo,you  thi'^k  I  met 
out  there  just  now  in  the  storm?"  >.  .        ~       -,- 

Tie  looked  cunningly  at  Lord  Montalien,  but  Liu'd  Montn- 
:ien   did  not   srx'ak.      His  face  was  set   in   ai;    angry   frown. 

"That  poor,  little,  unfortunate  Alice  of  yours.  I  put  her 
in  a  cab~-6lie  didn't  seem  to  know  where  she  was  going,  and 


ao2     "A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts.' 


ii' 


paid   tho  drivc^r  to  take  her  hom:      I  believe,  in   my  soiii 
she  would  have  perished  before  morning." 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  she  had,  and  you  with  her!"  burst  out 
the  badgered  peer.  "What  the  deuce  brings  you  here,  Sted- 
ujan  i    Don't  you  see  I'm  going  outi" 

"Now,  that  ig  inhospitable,'*  murmured  Mr.  Stedmaji,  ro- 
proac'hi'uliy;  "and  to  such  a  friend  as  I  have  been  to  you, 
too.  Didn't  you  tell  me  I  had  a  claim  upon  your  gratitude 
you  would  never  forget  when  I  chose  to  call  upon  you  ?  The 
time  has  come.  1  leave  England  in  three  days,  to  seek  my 
fortune  in  Australia;  and  I  have  called  tipon  you  to-night, 
Lord  Montalien,  for  a  check  for  three  thousand  pounds." 

Lord  Montalien  laughed  scornfully. 

"Three  thousand  demons,  perhaps  1"  he  said. 

"No,  my  lord,  one  of  them  1  find  quite  enough  to  deal  with 
at  once.  I  want  three  thousand  pounds,  and  I  mean  to  have 
it  before  I  quit  this  room!" 

"You  are  mad  or  drunk — which?" 

"Neither,  most  noble  lord.  Your  secret  is  worth  the 
money." 

"What  secret?"  with  a  scornful  stare. 

"That  Alice  Warren,  the  bailiff's  daughter,  is  your  lawful, 
wedded  wife!" 

"What!" 

Mr.  Stedman  looked  up  at  him  with  an  exultant  smile  of 
power. 

"That  Alice  Warren,  whom  ten  minutes  ago  you  turned 
from  your  doors  to  perish  in  the  snow,  is  your  lawful,  wedded 
wife,  as  fast  as  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury's  license  and  a 
clergyman  of  the  iChurch  of  England  can  make  her!  That  is 
your  secret,  my  lord!  You  thought  I  would  be  your  cat's- 
paw,  run  my  licad  in  a  noose  to  oblige  j'ou — do  your  dirty 
work,  and  tak(^  a  'thank  you'  for  my  pains.  That  was  your 
mic'take.  You  are  as  .tightly  married  to  Alice  W^arrcu  as 
though  the  ceremony  h?)d  been  performed  under  the  roof  of 
St.  George's,  Hanover  Square.  You  can  prove  my  words  if 
you  like,  easily  enough — Alice  Warren  is  Lady  Montalien/' 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other,  and  Lord  Montalien 
knew  he  spoke  the  truth.  In  the  waxlight  his  face  was 
deadly  pale. 

"Stedman,"  he  .«aid,  "why  hnve  you  done  this?" 

"To  wi{)e  out  all  old  debt  of  six  years'  stivnding,  my  lonl. 
Y(ni  know  to  what  I  refer — to  Fanny  Dashon.  You  thought 
I  had  forgotten,  didn't  you? — that  was  your  little  mistnke. 
The  debt  was  cleanly  wiped  out  on  the  night  you  married  thr 
bailiff's  daug^hter.  Now  will  you  give  me  your  chock  :.c 
three  thousand  pounds  or  not  i'' 


'•C-jmili."'':  Husband. 


«• 


303 


i   do  not  ^ 


■If  lior,  T  will  ^o  ^•1r;^i;.Mlc  from  this  room  a>  Pauliiui  Lisle. 


rihI  tell  hrr  the  wholes  story.     To  obtniu  iuformnt 


ic,:\  ■) 


f  1 


1 


nciu 


1  sli 


V  uili  f,'-iv('  me  ut  least  oiic  tlousniul.  juui  mv  rrvi'i 


will  l.o  worth  the  (ithcr  two.  1  think,  of  iho  two  courMs,  1 
really  should  jtrcfcr  it.'' 

L'trd  Montalieii,  witlu^iit  a  word,  opened  his  cheeklx'ok 
and  wrote  an  order  for  three  thousand  ixmiid-. 

"What  surety  have  I,"  he  saitl,  ''that  yon  will  not  -till  ;:o 
to  ]VI!ss  Lisle  when   1  havc^  ^ivcMi  you  this?"* 

"My  promise,  niy  .ord,  wliieh  I  will  keejt.  (Jive  nir  \\u) 
chick,  and  I  swear  to  leave  Enj.rl.ind,  and  keep  yom*  -een't 
invi.i'ate  to  the  end  of  my  life.'" 

\Vi;hout  a  word  his  lord.ship  passed  him  tin-  slip  .,f  jtapir. 
?»lr.  Stedman  folded  it  up  with  a  satisfied  smile. 

"Tiianks,    my    lord,    and    farewell.     I   will    d<'Miii    ycju   no 

He  took  his  hat  and  aj^pvoaehed  the  door.  Then  he  turned 
round  for  a  second,  and  looked  at  Lord  .Moutalit'n  slandiiVc 
like  a  statur". 


'Jv    h)rd,"   ho  said,  "it   wasn't    her   fault.      Don't    he   * 


OO 


h'r.vil  on  h<'r  wdien  1  am  i-oi 


le 


,*-..) 


d-ni^ht,  Mr,   Stedman,"'  his  lordship  ans\vere<l,   icily 


\   know  what  T  ov.-e  her,  and  how  to    leal   with  her. 


iVUi 


1    tl 


leii  he  was  aume. 


Al 


one 


.\ 


o , 


r 


nseen  tempt<^rs. 


dark  spirits,  filled  the  room.  Tie  thi'cw  off  his  overcoat  and 
walked  U])  and  down.  Tlonr  after  hour  sti'uek — it  was  h'li^' 
past  midnight,  and  still  he  never  })aused  in  that  ceaseh*ss 
walk.  Jlonr  after  hour  wore  by — morning-  datvned,  white  and 
cold,  over  London — firelight  and  waxli^ht  lunl  flickered  and 
died  away. 

And    with    the   morninji;,    Lord   ^rontalicn    know    how    he 
meant  to  deal  witii  Alice. 


i 


1i'-.| 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


CAMILLA     S    HUSBAND       ' 

Rir  Vane  Charteris  and  his  family  had  heen  back  two 
days  in  the  house  in  Berkeley  Square.  The  Christmas  i\'s- 
tivities  at  Montalien  had  been  postponed  indefinitely,  all 
throuj^h  *the  headstrong  disobedience  of  that  wilifnl  girl, 
Paulina  Lisle. 


a 


I  will  never  jro  to  ^Afontalien  Priory  of  my  own  wi 


11, 


>» 


she 


.said;  'and  if  you  take  me  by  force,  I  >vill 


•un 


refuge  with  Duke  Mason,  an  hour  after  we  get  tlitre. 


away  and  .seek 


» 


204 


<« 


Camilla's  Husband.' 


"jicr  (J('vlli-^]i  (li'tcriiiiu'Uioii  1  uovor  saw  cf[uaki<l  in  old 
or  .yonii^!"   Sir   \'i\nv.  .said  tt>   ilu*  last  day  of  his  litV. 

And  indeed  there  was  truth  iit  the  forciljh-  remark.  Slje 
had  I;' pt  her  rooms,  t;j  the  surprint,'  of  everyljody  for  a  foil 
iiij^ht  at  JJri^hton — iiavliif^'  her  meals  sent  up  to  her,  not 
seeiii;^-  a  soul  l)Ul  lier  maid  .lane.  Tlie,  weather  had  h'-cn 
dismal  thi-ouidioiit,  and  with  jilenty  of  new  hooks  and  lew 
music,  I'aulina  eould  not  fe<d  very  lonely.  The  Brighton 
world  bejjjan  at  last  t(»  ask  so  many  questions  about  its 
bright  favorite  tliat  at  length  Sii*  \'ane  sent  up  his  own 
man,  with  a  polite  recpie?. :  that  Miss  Lisle  would  join  them 
that  day  at  dinner.  Miss  T.isle's  prompt  answer  was  ehar- 
aeteri.'.t  ic : 

"Tell  Sir  Vano  Charteris,  Brownson,  with  my  e(jmpli- 
ments,  that  J  have  stayfd  a  prisoner  here  for  two  weeks  to 
please  him — I  shall  now  stay  two  more  to  please  myself!" 

With  which  the  door  closed  emphatically  in  Brownson's 
bewildered  face.  And  Miss  Lisle  would  hav(^  been  as  good  as 
Her  word  had  not  the  baronet  wdiisked  his  whole  family  back 
to  town. 

I.ojidon  was  deserted  now  by  their  world,  but  Mrs.  Atch- 
erly,  Paulina's  friend,  had  a  country  seat  at  Twickenham; 
and  on  the  twenty-second  of  December  was  to  give  a  grand 
ball,  to  be  preceded  by  private  theatricals;  and  to  these  theat- 
ricals and  to  this  ball  Paulina  had  promised  faithfully  to  go. 

But  Sir  Vane  ruled  it  otherwise. 

"If  Mrs.  Atcherly  should  happen  to  call,"  he  said  to  his 
sister,  "tell  her  Paulina  is  indisposed,  and  unable  to  attend. 
If  she  thought  she  was  to  be  taken  to  'The  Firs,'  she  would 
throw  hej'self  upon  the  Atcherlys  protection,  as  soon  as  not, 
and  the  old  colonel  is  a  veritable  Don  Quixote  about  women." 

Mrs.  Atcherly  did  call  on  the  twenty-first,  and  was  told,  in 
Mrs.  CJalbraith's  smoothest  way,  i)oor  Paulina  would  not  be 
able  to  attend — the  child  had  been  indisposed  since  a  fort- 
night before  they  left  Brighton. 

Was  t]u>  list  of  Miss  Lisle's  enormities  never  to  be  filled^ 
The  drawing-room  door, opened  as  Mrs.  Galbraith  spoke,  and 
the  yonng  lady  herself  walked  in,  her  cheeks  glowing,  her 
eyes  sparkling,  the  very  impersonation  of  excellent  health 
and  spirits. 

"Not  so  indisposed,  Mrs.  CJalbraith,  that  she  cannot  grci't 
an  old  friend.     And,  dear  Mrs,  Atcherly,  T  will  go  »to  Twick 
enham   to-morrow  night   if  T  have  to  walk   there!" 

"I  am  ;-o  glad.  Kemember,  Mrs.  Oalbraith,"  risii?g  to  :r<-, 
"we  shall  assuredly  expect  you  and  Miss  Lisle." 

Mrs.  Galbraith  turned  passionately  to  Miss  Lisle  the  in- 
stant her  visitor  had  quitted  the  house. 


«t 


Camilla's  Husbarri/ 


20^ 


iliss  Lislo  lifted  muc  Iniiid.  with  linu^dit.v  ^'osturo,  thirt 
stilled  tiu'  risiii/^-  Icmpcst. 

'VMi  .  (iiilltraitli,"'  >li('  sjiid.  in  n  voice  flinl  rjinir.  "eiinim-h 
of  lhi>I  1  am  nil  cliiid  to  In-  wliipiicd  and  pnt  to  IxmI,  ;is  you 
see  iit — no  i)Oor,  timid,  spiritless  ereMtnre.  to  lie  tynmni/cd 
over  by  y<in.  ov  your  brother!  I  ^Indl  ^'o  t  •  'I'wickenliMm  t(j- 
nuM'row  i.i^lit  as  .surely  as  to-murrow  ni^ht  comes." 

She  sweiit  out  of  liie  room  superbly.  A-;  he  jvissed  I  ho 
library--<lie  door  ajar — she  was  suddenly  ehecke*!  by  hearing 
her  ev  n    name    from   the  hated   lii)s   of    I^ird    Montalien. 

"Does  raulinu  know  yet  you  are.  koIuk  to  take  her  to  ''i'ho 
Firs'   for  the  winter?"   he  asked. 

"Not  yet.  1  tell  ytju,  ^Montalien,  tli.'  determined  will  of 
that  g^irl  is  past  belief!  She  is  capable  of  a!lythin^^  Sho 
shall  not  know  her  destination  until  we  are  fairly  started — 
Eleanor  will  fabricate  some  story  to  satisfy  her.  Once  at 
•The  Firs'  J  hav<'  no  fear.  It  will  b(>  all  our  own  way  then  — 
the  house  is  as  lonely  and  desobite  as  a'toirdi;  and  I  will 
take  care  she  does  not  pass  tlu;  gates.  You  will  be  with  her 
day  and  niidit — -f  you  cannot  inake  br-r  consent  to  marry 
you  before  s[)ring,  why  then ;" 

"She  .-hall  consent,  by  fair  means  or  foul.  She  shall  only 
leave  'The  Firs'  as  my  wife." 

lie  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  Pa\dina  Hit  ted  away. 

In  her  own  rcx)ms,  she  sank  down,  white  and  cold.  Wiiat 
horrible  plot  was  this  they  were  concocting  against  her? 
They  were  going  to  imprison  her  at  "The  Firs"  f(/r  months 
and  months,  that  dreary  house  Mrs.  (lalbraitb  ever  s[)oke  of 
with  a  shudder.  And  Lord  Alontalien  was  to  be  her  constant 
companion,  and  by  fair  means  or  foul  she  was  <Mdy  to  leave 
it  his  wife.  Her  heart  grew  s'ick  witinn  her.  Her  own  will 
might  be  strong,  but  that  of  those  two  men  was  stronger. 
Imprisoned  there- — friendless — bow  could  she  hop(!  *<■  outwit 
them  i 

.  "Something  must  be  done  to-night,''  slie  tlwHiglit,  as  she 
dressed  herself  for  Mrs.  Atcherly's  ball.  She  h.id  not  the 
least  idea  what,  but  something  must  be  (.ne  to  avert  her  fate. 
Never,  never,  never!  would  she  go  rlown  to  "The  Fir*s." 

She  was  thinking  this  as  her  maid  dressed  lier — thinking 
it  as  they  drove  rajiidly  throrgh  tb.e  cold,  mnotdit  ni.!.iht  — 
thinking  it  as  she  entered'  Mrs.  Atclierly's  pleasant  rooms, 
filled  with  pleasant  people.  She  was  looking  beautiful  in  a 
dicss  of  silver-blue  moire,  with  diauK-nds  ^pnrkling  in  her 
rold  hair,  on  her  marble  throat  and  arms.  She  was  jjale  as 
ma-'ble  herself,  but  there  was  a  feverish  fire  in  her  eyes  that 
told  of  the  unrest  within. 

Sir  Vane,  Lord  Montalien,  even  Maud,  attended  this  part^ 


;{..! 


>  . 


206 


"Camilla's  Husband." 


t'»  witness  the  thoatricnls.  Hills  priritof^  cv  whifo  Hatin  were 
|)tis8('(l  aromid.  Tin*  phiy  was  ''Camilla's  llusbaii*!."  "Ca- 
milla," l>y  Miss  Att'hcrly,  and  tho  yomi^  artist,  who  is  the 
hero  ot"  tho  piece,  by  Cuy  KarUeourt. 

"His  h^^^t  ap|)oaraiiee  on  any  sta^e,"  laughed  liis  Irotli'T  to 
Sir  Vane,  "before  ho  goes  forth  into  the  outer  tlarkne'>,  te 
be  seen  and  heard  of  no  more.  lie  was  a' ways  a  sort  of  [iv\ 
with  those  {teople.  He  has  Bold  out,  y  u  know,  and  must 
leave  Knuhind  within  th<^  week,  or  the  Jews  will  be  down 
upon  him,  and  all  his  brilliancy,  and  all  his  b«'auty,  will 
Ik'  wasted  sweetness  on  the  des<:rt  air  of  a  <lebtors  prison.'' 

"How  you  do  hate  your  brother,"  Sir  Vane  thought;  '"and 
you  do  nut  possess  even  the  common  decency  to  conceal   it." 

l*erliaj>s  many  of  those  who  reail  this  have  seen  the  play 
called  "('amilla's  Husband."  A  youn^  huiy,  persecuted  by  a 
tyiaimical  KU{>''dian,  makes  her  escape,  and  asks  the  tirst 
man  slie  meets  to  marry  her. 

The  lirst  man  i^  a  strolling  artist,  who  consents,  marries 
her,  receives  a  jiurne  of  y!;o\d,  is  told  he  is  never  to  see  or 
seek  her  a^ain,  and  slie  disappears.  Of  course  it  ends,  as 
it  ought  to  tiul,  in  the  arti^  saving  her  life,  and  eventually 
winning  her  hnc  and  herself. 

Paulina  Lisle  sat  watching  the  progress  of  the  play,  led 
away  from  the  great  trouble  of  her  life  in  its  Intercast.  How 
well  he  playe<l,  slie  thought;  how  magnificently  he  looke<l! 
llow  like  Camilla's  fate  was  to  her  own!  Oh!  if  she  could 
but  cut  the  Gordian  knot  of  her  difficulties  by  asking  some 
body  to  marry  her  too! 

It  was  the  last  scene  of  the  last  act.  Camilla  is  hopelessly 
in  love  with  her  artist,  and  that  moment  is  drawing  near 
when  she  shall  fling  herself  into  his  arms  and  declare  that 
"irapi)y  am  I,  since  you  are  Camilla's  husband." 

CfUy  was  playing  superbly;  and  when,  in  the  last  monjont, 
he  opens  his  arms,  and  his  wife  falls  into  them,  the  whuh' 
house  lan>t  forth  into  a  tumult  of  applause,  in  the  midst  of 
which  tho  curtain  fell,  and  the  play  was  over. 

"I Tow  well  he  acted,"  a  voice  near  Paulina  said,  as  a  young 
ofRcer  of  the  Guards  arose  with  a  military  friend,  "for  a  man 
irretrievably  ruined.  His  debts  are  enonnous;  aifd  his  old 
ftuut  lias  died,  and  left  all  to  that  cad  of  an  elder  brother. 
What  a  pity  the  days  of  Faust  and  Mephistopheles  are  over! 
Guy  Earlscourt  wouM  sell  his  soul  to  the  Evil  One,  I  verily 
believe,  without  v.  moment's  hesitation,  for  twenty  thousand 
pounds!  He  must  leave  England  in  a  day  or  two,  and  for- 
ever." 

The  speaker  passed  on;  but  his  light-spoken  wonis  had 
been  beard  and  iieeded.    In  that  instant,  as  alie  Iktenedf  it 


II 


Camilla's  Husb;- 


.}    •! 


207 


ail  jU:"ihc(]  upon  y*uulin.i  like  -^  '"'lihMTip;  r-lonm.  l*;iy  Knils- 
C(»i!i-t  \<*i'  till  iiiMii—  llu"  iriaa  Ir-  iiiiri-.v,  and  nave  Ium  The 
Mi'^'i  to  t  il\n  linlf  lior  fortniu^  and  l«':iv('  Ium*  forovor. 

i-di  '  I'juiioti  ugaiu.st  a  sioinltir  pilustt'r;  \.\\v  room,  tin-  iightn, 
*Vc'  rj/'.  J  swinuijin^i:  iu  fciro  iu  r.  \\i>v  i'.yrs  wrrc  tixtd  witli  \hc. 
iiiU'i'-ity  of  iiiMuity  upon  tlio  face,  of  (liiy  Karlsroiirt,  sur- 
1^  'ivded  by  ail  tlic  vdnion  in  tlic  vootiim.  rcfcivinji^  tlwir  <'t>?ii- 
I'limont^  and  coiigratnlationp,  witli  ids  n<ual  n('^:lif;ont, 
courli.v  j^raco.  Ail  licr  lilvinjr,  ail  lii*r  frltMidsliip  for  Idin,  all 
her  j  ity,  vanisiiod.  He  was  liardly  a  man,  oidy  tlio  iinltu- 
Moi; :,  tiic  aiitcniaton,  wlio  was  to  save  hw  for  a  certain  stip- 
ulatod  ])rir'». 

ilo  turneci  laug-liiiiprly  away  at  last  from  Ins  adnun  r-^,  and 
saw  Irr.  How  stranprrly,  liow  wildly  slio  looked!  'i'hc  deadly 
pallor  of  lier  faeo,  tin?  I)i  "idiif]^  hri^htne-^s  of  her  <'yo<,  what 
did  it  luean — was  she  ill?  He  approached — the  14 »e II  (d  those 
fevered  (>yes  drawin^^  him  to  her. 

''What  is  it  r  ho  asked. 

Siie  eau^ht  his  arm. 

"1  want  you,"  she  said,  iti  a  hreathless  sort  of  way.  "Take 
me  out  of  this  room." 

Wouderinf:!'.  ama/ed,  curious,  he  drew  her  hand  within  his 
arm  and  led  her  through  several  ror)!ns  t<)  a  sort  of  small, 
half-lit  boudoir,  lie  was  the  friend  of  tlu^  house,  atifl  h.<' knew 
it  well.  A  clouded  light,  like  moonlight,  idled  this  small 
room,  flowers  nnule  the  air  heavy  with  jx-rfume.  Mo  dropped 
a  velvet  (curtain  over  tho  doorway,  and  turiK^l  to  her. 

"Nowf  he  said.  Somethinj^  uncommon  was  ef)ming',  ho 
knew  not  what. 

8he  looked  at  liini;  tlie  burning  light  in  her  v.yv^  almost 
friglitened  him.    Was  she  in  the  first  stage  of  a  brain  fever? 

"V(ju  arc  going  to  leave  England?"  she  asked,  abruptly, 

"I  am." 

"When  ?" 

"In  three  days." 

"For  where?" 

"The  new  world.  I  am  going  to  setik  my  fortune  in  Amer- 
ica." 

"You  will  never  return  to  England — never,   never!" 

"Never,  in  all  j)rol)ability." 

"'J'hon  v.hat  can  it  matter  to  you!  It  will  make  your  fat« 
no  worse,  and  it  will  save  me.  You  shall  have  half  my  for- 
tune— cW  you  hear — ^forty  tliou^and  pounds — if  you  will 
swt'ar  tPkecp  tho  seciet,  and  never  to  come  back,  never  to 
come  near  me,  never  let  the  world  know  I  married  you," 

The  words  hurst  from  her  wildly — incoheren^t^* 


208 


''Camilla's  Husband. 


9t 


llo  lookod  a(  Ihm'  in  iJaiik  ainnzo.     Wn-;  Miss  Li-ilf  fynliiR 


iiwmI  i 


(t 


()l»,  you  don't  iindcrstjiiMl,''  site  ••ri«d.  "I  am  liko  the 
woinaii  in  tliut  pla.v — 1  a/n  iiwf  in.-id,  though  tlie.v  will  drive 
liK!  so  ill  tlic  "lid.  1  t<'II  \ou  tlicy  arc  noiii^  to  iiiak*'  na' 
marry  Lord  Moiifalicn,  ami  [  liatc  liimi  I  li.ifc  him!  1  will 
kill  myself  first!" 

A  li^lit  l»f'/^an  i  dawn  upon  (iiiy.  By  soiiu*  sul»H«^  instinct 
ho  understood  her  at  on«'e. 

"They — meaning  Sir  \'ane  Charteris  and  Mrs.  (lalhraifh, 
I  sui)pose--  are  f^'ointT  '<»  iiiake  yoii  marry   Lord    Montjilien  ^" 

"^'<•s.  You  k.iow  'The  I'lrs' — that  desolalr',  ahaiuloned  old 
inanordiouse.  on  th(^  I'lssex  coasts  'They  ure  Roin;^  to  im- 
prison me  there  \nilil  1  eonsent.  They  will  do  with  mo  as 
wa^»  doiui  with  my  mother,"  compel  me  to  marry  a  man  I 
ahhor.     AmL  there  is  only  one  way  of  eseupe." 


u 


» 


And  that  is  tx)  marry  some  one  else 

lie  was  ent(?rin^  into  the  sj>irit  of  thr»  thing  now.  Mad 
escapades  of  all  sorts  had  hcen  the  delifjriit  of  his  life.  What, 
could  h(!  better  than  to  finish  his  caicer  in  Kngland  by  th<^ 
niaddest  e^seai>ado  of  all.  He  understood  her  as  few  men 
would  have  done,  and  pitied  her  intensely  in  this  hour  of  her 
desperation. 

"Miss  Lisle,"  ho  said,  "w"T  you  marry  me?" 

He  had  spoken  the  words  for  her!  She  gave  a  sort  oj  gayp 
of  intense  relief. 

"I  will — if  you  consent  to  my  conditions." 

"What  are  theyT 

"That  you  accept  half  my  fortune,  and  in  the  moment  of 
our  marriage  leave  me  forever." 

"'I'he  first  is  easy  enough — the  second — well,  not  so  pleas- 
ant.    Still,' to  oblige  a  lady  in  distress " 

'I'here  was  a  ^jinall  Bible,  bound  in  gold  and  pearl,  on  the 
table.     She  snatched  it  uj)  and  held  it  open  to  him. 

"Swear,"  she  cried;  "swear,  by  all  you  hold  sacred,  never 
to  molest  me,  never  to  claim  any  right  as  my  husband, 
never,  come  what  niay,  to  betray  my  secret,  to  leave  me  at 
the  church  door.     Swear!"  «  y 

He  took  the  book  without  a  second's  hesitation,  and 
touched  it  with  his  lips. 

"I  swear!"  Iw,  said. 

She  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  The  cold  dew  was  stand- 
ing in  great  drops  on  her  white  face.  She  sank  down  in  a 
chair  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  with  a  dry,  choking 
sob.  The  young  -'lan  stood  and  looked  at  her  with  a  feeling 
of  intense  pity. 


€t 


vo   t)ie 

(li'ivc 

ko  nif' 

I  will 

ifttitu't 

hraitlj, 
iiM'ii : 

l(>()  old 

t<»  im- 

nio  as 

iriaii    I 


,     Mm.1 

Wliut 

by  th(r 

■  of  lier 


oi  {^asp 

nont  of 

pleas- 

oii  the 

,  iiover 
nsbaii(K 
me  at 


n 


,    ami 


stand- 

,vii  in  a 

hoking 

feeling 


Camilla's  Husband/' 


209 


ti 


And 


Poor  cliild!"  1m'  said,   very   Moftly;  ''it    la  hard  on  yttu. 


now-  when  is  1 


it  to  1 


"They  nuMiii  to  start  for  'The  I'lr^  l.y  tli"  eailiesl  iraiii, 
on  ( 'liii>tnuis    I'!\c.     Onci'   il.cn.  all   i•^  )i.-f.'' 

"  Ihcn  wr  iiiii^t  be  h«'l".r»'}iai.d  will;  tln-m.  CJad!  svlmt  »i 
triumph  it  will  lo  over  Kraiih!"  lie  laUKlird  as  lie  spok.- — 
ruiiii'd,  and  exiled.  (Iny    l'!ai  l.-t  .uirt   cmld  «.|i||    jiiu^^h.     "I.rt 


UH  see. 


Will 


yoii   iu«  iniin'K  (I  in  a  ••iuircli   m  flux  eitv 


Li^le,  at  daydawn,  Christinas  Kvef' 


M 


H.I 


Xot  ill  a  cluirch!  such  a  iiiania«t'  in  a  cluiivh 


a  nio( 


a 


Th 


kf-ry 
en, 


by  J 


I  sacrih'm'-  aiiywiicic  r 


won 


Id 


•(•em 


ove 


1 


have   it  I      What   do  yon  s.iv    to  a    mar 


riaue  before  a  re^i-trar:'  \i>\i  walk  into  an  otlicf.  verv  nnK-Ii 
like  any  ot>bi'r  f)lli<'t',  and  you  sre  an  ollicial,  very  much  likn 
any  other  oilicial,  and  a  few  words  are  said,  a  littli?  si^niiiLT 
and  cMuntcrsif^MiiiiM'.  and  the  tiling  is  over.  A  inarriaiAc  he- 
fore  a  registrar  lu^tween  the  iiours  of  ei^ht  and  twelve  in  the 
f<jrenoon,  with  open  doors,  in  the  presenee  of  two  witnesses, 
etc.,  (>te.  Nothing  <'an  he  uu.w  -imple,  and  you  wi!!  leave 
the  otHee  i\A  le;;ally  married  in  the  eye  of  the  Ijiw  ("what  yoii 
want.  I  take  iti  as  though  a  iliMii  and  chapter  had  doiu'  the 
business.  There  will  have  to  \.o  a  little  fibbing  about  your 
age;  ^  will  arrange  that, 


W 


hat 


ujil  you 


■rerfectly.  My  niai<l  will  accompany  me.  and  \  will  go  di- 
rectly home  when  the  cerennMiy  l^  over,  ami  tell  them  there 
that  I  am  out  of  their  power  at  last.  If  you  will  call  at  tho 
house,  a  eouple  of  hours  lat<'r,  Sir  Vane  will  pay  over  to  you 
til!'  sum   I  have  promi>ed." 

He  smiled  slightly. 

"I  shall  eall,  Miss  T.isle.  And  now  as  to  the  hour.  Wo 
must  be  very  early,  in  order  to  be  beforehand  with  them. 
Say  botwe(m  eight  and  nine?     (\in  you  be  ready  so  early?" 

"1  e(»ul(l  be  r(\idy  at  nudnight  to  save  myself  from  y<»ur 
brother  I  At  eight  o'clock  I  and  my  maid  will  steal  from  the 
house  and  meet  you  wherever  you  say." 

Mv  cab  shall  be  111  waiting  at  the  eorner.    The  eoaeliman 


« 


will  do  for  the  other  witness.     Is  your  maid  to  be  trn<fc,l 


<( 


I    think   so,   wluni — well   paid. 

"And  you  will  not  change  your  mind — you  will  not    faiH" 

lie  would  not  have  had  hei  fail  f(»r  worlds  now.  Tie-  ro- 
mance, the  piquancy  of  tlu^  adventure,  fired  his  imagination. 
Of  the  future,  in  that  lionr.  he  never  tb.oufrl,t;  jumt  at  nresent 
it  look(>d  a  eapital  ])raclical  joke, 

"Am  I  likely  to  failf  she  cried,  bitterly.  "Mr.  lOarls- 
court,"  lurni^ig  to  him  with  sudden  passion,  ^  I  wonder  wliat 
you  t«hink  of  me !" 

"I  understand  you!"  he  answered,  respectfully.    "Desper- 


210 


On  Christmas  Eve. 


ate  cases  require  desperate  remedies.  A^a7nst  two  ^uch  men 
as  Lord  Montalien  and  Sir  Ynne  Charteris  you  stand  no 
cTiance.  Your  marriage  with  me  will  save  you  at  least  from 
a  marriage  with  him,  and  you  may  trust  me  to  keep  my 
oath." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ON      vJ  II  RIST  M  AS      E  VE. 

Over  the  fire,  in  her  dingy  lodgings,  on  the  night  preceding 
Ciiri.-tmas  Eve,  a  bloodless,  attenuated  shadow  of  a  misr-r- 
able  woman  crouched.  It  was  Alice,  but  Alice  so  changed 
that  her  own  motht  r,  had  she  by  any  chance  entered,  would 
have  faile<l  to  recognize  her.  Alice,  with  every  vestige  of 
beauty,  of  ycruth,  of  health,  gone — as  utterly  miserable  a 
woman  as  the  dull  London  light  fell  on. 

It  wjis  snowing  without,  and  was  cold.  Sho  had  drawn  a 
little  shawl  around  her,  and  crouched  with  her  hands  out- 
strctclif'd  to  the  blaze.  The  few  articles  of  summer  clothing 
she  had  brought  from  home,  in  September  last,  were  all  she 
had  yet. 

September  last  I  only  four  short  months !  Heaven  I  what  a 
lifetime!  what  an  eternity  of  misery  it  looked  to  her! 

How  she  had  reached  home  that  night,  after  she  left  St. 
James  street,  sho  never  knew.  Some  one  put  her  in  a  cab; 
and  when,  after  a  day  and  a  night  of  stupid,  painless  torpor, 
she  awoke  to  consciousness,  she  found  herself  again  in  her 
own  poor  room,  and  the  landlady's  face  looking  half-compas- 
sionatc'!y,half-impatiently  at  her. 

"It  was  my  luck  to  have  my  lodgers  always  a-falling  sick 
on  my  h'lnds,  and  a-dying  with  their  bills  unpaid,  like  that 
Porter  upstairs;  and  it  does  make  a  person  hard,  T  confess," 
Miss  Young  afterward  owned,  with  remorse. 

And  then  memory  and  consciousness  slowly  came  back, 
and  she  recollected  all.  She  was  not  Frank's  wife — she  was 
the  lost  creature  they  thouf;ht  her  at  home,  and  Frank  v.TiS 
going  to  marry  Paulina.  No;  he  should  never  do  that.  Slie 
scarcely  felt  anger,  or  sorrow,  or  oven  pain  now;  beyond  a 
certain  point  suflFering  eensos  to  be  suffering,  and  becomes 
its  own  ana^estlu'tic.  She  had  reached  that  point— she  w.js 
past  hope,  past  care,  past  help.  Sho  v.-ould  iind  out  Paulitia, 
toll  her  her  story,  save  her  from  a  like  fate,  and — die. 

Sonu^  such  thoughts  were  \u  her  mind  as  she  crov.ched  shiv- 
ering over  the  fire.  The  wintry  twilight  was  fast  filling  tlie 
room  wiA  its  creeping  darkness,  when  the  uo5r  suddenly 
opened,  and,  without  a  word  of  warning,  Lord  Montalien 
stood  before  h». 


f  * 


On  Christmas  Eve. 


211 


She  had  never  tliousht  to  soo  hhn  ngain  in  this  world. 
She  looked  up  with  a  low,  strariirc  fry. 

''Frank!" 

"Yes,  Alice,  Frank  I — Fraiik  *•!-.,>  t.)  \-o^  your  pMrd'>!i  for 
the  crue),  thonpfhtloss  words  he  s]v>k('  the  otlKM-  nijxlit.  Fr:i»)k 
come  back  to  tell  you  he  loves  you.  iU).!  to  ask  you  to  ior--ivo 
him  for  what  he  snid." 

"There  is  no.  need.  1  jini  not  voiir  wife."  she  answrrod, 
in  a  slow,  dull  way.  ''I  hat!  rather  you  had  not  eoau'.  I 
only  want  to  see  Paulina,  and  di(>  in  |k\'U'(>.'' 

Andwhvr 


"You  want  to  stH*  ^aulina  ^ 


ii'^V 


Vo    fell    her   all — to   save    her    frov.)    you,    Frank!      Poor 
Polly!     She  used  to  be  so  l)ri^lit,  so  liai)i)y,  you  know,  aUvav.-i 
lauyrhinfJT  and  sin^nng-;  it  w«uld  be  a  pity  to  break  her  liei.. 
Mine  is  ])rokcn;  but  then,  it  doesn't  so  much  mati.'r  ul>oul 


nie." 

She  drew  a  \ou^,  tired  sij^'-h,  and  leaiif^d  her  head  on  her 
hand^s.     Then  suddenly  she  lof)ked  up  in  his  faer^. 

"Frank!"  she  said,  in  a  voice  of  indescribable  pathos,  "w!^ 
did  you  treat  mc  so?  T  loved  you,  and  I  trusted  you,  and  I 
thought  T  Avas  your  wife!" 

It  misht  have  moved  a  heai't  of  stcuie;  he  had  no  lieart, 
even  of  stone,  to  be  moved. 

"You  foolish  child, "'he  said,  with  a  sli;j:ht  lauprh,  "you  aro 
my  wife — my  only  wife,  as  truly  as  ever  you  thouj^dit  it.  Do 
you  really  believe  the  an^ry  words  T  said  to  you  the  other 
night?  Silly  Alice!  I  was  an^ry,  T  own — I  did  not  want  you 
to  come  to  my  lodj^inprs,  and  I  spoke  to  you  in  my  anf2:er,  as  T 
hr.d  no  ri^ht  to  speak.  You  are  my  wife,  and  I  myself  will 
take  you  to  Miss  Lisle,  if  you  wish  it." 

She  rose  up,  her  breath  cominji:  in  (juick,  short  irasi)s. 

"Frank!  you  will!  Oh!  for  TTeaven's  sake,  don't  decH'ive 
me  now!     I  couldn't  beai^  it!" 

"I  am  not  deceivinj*-  you — T  am  telling  you  the  truth.  You 
are  my  wife,  and  you  shall  leave  this  miserable  hovel,  and  at 
once.  Pearly  to-morrow  morning  T  will  ctmo  for  you,  and  I 
will  take  you  first  to  Paulina,  and  from  her  straight  down 
to  Montalien.  Your  Christmas  shall  be  a  happy  one  yet, 
Alice." 

She  took  a  step  forward,  staggered  into  his  arms,  and  lay 
there,  so  still,  so  cold,  that  he  thought  her  fainting.  Il»^ 
shrank,  too,  from  her  clasp  with  a  shudder,  and  placed  her 
hurriedly  back  in  her  chair. 

"Compose  yourself,  Alice!"  he  said,  looking  away  Irom 
her.  "Can  you  be  ready  as  early  as  eight  o'clock,  or  oven 
before  it,  to-morrow  morning T* 

"WhenevtT  you  come  for  me,  Franks  X  can  bo  ready.    Oh. 


i-t 


L- 


312 


^    On  Christmas  Eve 


Mess  O 0(1!  bloss  Gofl!  and  I  never  thoiigli:    o  see  you  again 
iny  darling.'" 

Morning  dawned — the  ^norning  of  Christmas  Kve.  Thou- 
sands <jf  liiiiJi).v  people  awoke  in  the  great  city  to  wish  eacih 
otlu^r  "Merry  Chrij^tinas,"  but  I  doubt  if  among  them  tliere 
"Was  one  happier  than  this  poor  ereaturc,  in  her  bleak  lodg- 
ing, waiting  for  the  coming  of  her  idol.  She  i)aid  the  land- 
lady, dressed  herself  in  the  sickly  dawn,  and  stood  by  the  win- 
dow watoliing.  It  was  snowing  fast — the  wind  blew  cold  and 
shrilh  aiid  her  garment^  were  wretchedly  thin.  1'he  landlady 
pityingly  made  some  such  remark  to  her.  But  Alice  only 
laughed. 

"I  shall  feel  no  cold,  Mrs.  Young;  and  I  shall  soon  be 
beyond  feeling  cold,  or  ill,  or  lonely,  any  more." 

8he  had  uttered  a  prophecy — poor  Alice.  As  the  hoi)eful 
words  passed  her  lii)s  a  one-horse  vehicle  drove  up  to  the 
door,  and  she  saw  Frank,  muffled  beyond  any  recognition  but 
her  own,  sitting  therein. 

•She  gave  a  little  cry  of  delight. 

"(Jood-by,  Mrs.  Young,"  she  said;  "and  thank  you  for 
your  kindness  when  I  was  ill." 

She  ran  downstairs  and  out  of  the  house.  The  man  leanecl 
forward  and  helped  her  up  beside  him.  And  then  the  whirl- 
ing wilderness  of  snow  shut  them  from  Mrs.  Young's  sight. 

He  did  not  speak  one  word.  The  wind  and  the  snow  were 
driving  in  their  ^aces,  rendering  speech  impossible,  'i'he 
morning  light  was  still  dull  and  pale — the  city  clocks  wt  ic 
only  tolling  eight  as  they  quitted  the  Strand.  Tie  drove  across 
one  of  the  bridges,  and  out  to  some  dismal  waste  ground  in 
the  neighborhood  .of  Battersea,  a  remote  and  forgotten  tract, 
as  wild,  and  lonely,  and  forsaken  as  an  African  desort.  And 
here  for  the  first  time  he  spoke  r* 

"There  is  something  the  matter  with  the  horse,"  he  said; 
"you  Tnust  get  out." 

He  si)rang  out  himself  and  gave  her  his  hand  to  deseenn. 
They  were  close  uj)on  s:)me  deserted  brickfields,  and  he  madt 
a  motion  for  her  *o  follow  him. 

"Comu  out  of  the  storm,"  he  said;  there  is  a  place  of 
shelter  near." 

He  seemed  strangely  familiar  with  the  desolate  locality. 
Tie  led  her  to  a  sort  of  dry-ravine,  so  hidden  away  among 
rubbish  and  the  debris  of  the  forsaken  brickyards  as  to  ren- 
der I'litei'ing  almost  an  impossibility.  She  shrank  away  in 
almost  nameh'ss  fear. 

"FraTik!"  she  cried,  in  a  frightened  voice.  "I  can't  go  intc 
this  hideous  place.  Oh^  my  God,  Frank!  what  are  you  going 
to  do^ 


igain 

Thon- 
1  each 
thi've 
:  lodg- 
'  Imid- 
10  win- 
lid  and 
ndlady 
•v  only 


lOon 


1)6 


hopeful 

to  the 

tion  buT 


you 


for 


h  lean»'<l 
le  vvhivl- 

sij:,ht. 

o\v  w'i-vo 

k^  wove 
Ive  across 
ound  in 
on  traet, 
rt.     And 

he  said; 

(lesccnn, 
he  niadr 

plaee   of 

locality- 
^y   amonjr 
IS  to  run- 
away  in 

^'t  go  intc 
rou  goirg 


A  Mad  Marriage, 


7\% 


"To  take  your  lii^^! — you  f(-ol— y(Hi  l.alil.ler!"  he  nn'^werrd, 
in  a  horribh}  voice,  betwoon  fiis  clenched  tcctlj.  And  Ijcforo 
8he  could  utter  one  word,  one  cry,  tlicic  <',ti!  c  a  Ha.ih.  a  re- 
poi-{,  and  Alice  fell  like  a  stone  at   hi>  fed. 

Tlierc  was  a  pause  of  a  second.  Had  dealh  i)een  instan- 
taneous ?  No;  by  a  mi^liiy  eH'ort  sh<'  !;;df  rai>eil  lierseif.  and 
cla-ped  her  arms  around  his  knees. 

"Frank!"  she  whispered;  "Frank!"  and  the  old  deatidike 
devotion  looked  out  of  her  Klazinu'  (»ves.     '* Frank — von  h.ive 


lo\ed- 


vou—  so  !    Oh,  ( iod. 


killed  nie — and  I  loved  you  so — 1- 
have  mercy  on  me — and  for^ivc^ " 

She  fell  down  with  the  sentence  nntinished—dead. 

He  knew  she  was  dead.  He  drat^{;ed  the  i)ody  away  into 
the  darkest  depth  of  tlie  cavern,  piled  up  the  rubbish  and 
heaps  of  waste  bricks  again.  Thousands  of  jx-ople  nii^-lit 
pass  that  dreary  tract  and  never  notice  this  frij^htful  i)!ace. 

And  then  he  was  out  again  in  the  light  of  day,  wili  the 
white  snow  whirling  around  him,  and  his  horse  standing  with 
bowed  head  exactly  as  he  had  left  hini. 

"Now  for  my  handsome,  high-spirited  I*aulina!"  he 
thought,  as  he  leaped  in  and  drove  away.  "All  thingu  suc- 
ceed with  me,  and  no  shall  this!  In  my  vocabulary  there's  no 
sueh  word  as  fail !" 


CHAPTER  X. 


A    MAD    MARRIAGE. 


Paulina  did  not  find  it  difficult  to  "buy  over"  her  maid  to 

secrecy,  and  on  the  morning  of  Christnuis   Kve  they  set  out 

together  for  the  appointed  place  of  meeting. 

Guy  was  waiting,  pacing  up  and  down  by  a  four-wheeled 

coach. 

"Punctual!"  he  said.     "It  is  eight  precisel.y.  Miss  Lisle;  I 

hope  you  are  well  wrai)ped;  the  morning  is  hittiM-.     Tak<'  my 

arm — the  walking  is  dangerous." 

She  declined  with  a  gesture — clinging  to  dane, 

"(fo  on,  Mr.  Earlscourt;  we  will  follow  yo.i." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  cab  and  held  the  door  oi)en  for  iheni 

to  enter.     Then  he  closed  it  and  sprang  up  beside  rhe  driver, 

solacing  himself  with  a  cigar. 

They  stopped   aliruptly  at  last,  the  cab  door   opened,  and 

(Juv  stood  readv  to  help  them  out, 

"This  is  the  place,"  he  said,  briefly;  "allow  me." 

He  half  lifted  Paulina   down,  drew  her  hand  within   his 

arm,  and  led  her  up  a  flight  of  dark  stairs,  and  into  a  dark 


WHtt 


*  i 


^ 


214 


A  Mad  Marriasfe, 


and  i^rimy  office,  wliere  a  fire  burned  in  a  round  stove  and  H 
dirty  little  boy  was  swwpiiig. 

"Where  is  %\\  Markhanrf  Guy  asked  the  boy. 

The  dooj*  opened  on  the  instant,  and  a  lively  little  red- 
facerl  man  came  in. 

"Kcjit  you  waiting,  sir?  No?"  as  Guy  answered  impa- 
tiently; "well,  I  am  huky  for  this  once!  Now,  then,  if  the 
huly  will  stand  up,  and  the  witnesses  approach,  we'll  do  youp 
little  job  for  you  in  a  twinkling-." 

lior  heart  was  throbbing  with  almost  sickening  rapidity 
now—  throbbing  so  that  she  turnc  \  sick  and  faint  once  more. 
She  looked  about  her  for  a  second  with  a  wild  instinct  of 
Hight,  but  it  was  too  late.  Guy  had  led  her  forward — how 
firm,  how  resolute  his  clasp  se&med ! — and -«he  was  standing 
before  the  legal  official,  answering,  as  she  was  told  to  answer, 
and  hearing  Guy's  clear,  deep  tones  as  in  a  dreamy  swoon. 
She.  heard,  still  faintly  and  far  oif,  it  seemed,  the  solemn 
wo^ds,  "I  pronounce  you  man  and  wnfe,"  and  then  she  was 
signing  her  name  in  a  big  book,  and  feeling  rather  than 
seeing  the  little  red-faced  man  staring  at  her  curiously,  and 
knew  that  she  was  the  wife  of  Guy  Earlscourt! 

The  registrar  placed  a  slip  of  paper  in  her  hand. 

"Vour  marraige  certificate,  madam,"  he  said,  with  a  bow; 
"permit  me  to  offer  my  congratulaions,  Mrs.  "Earlscourt.' 

The  clock::  of  the  district  were  striking  nine  as'tliey  left 
the  office  and  re-entered  the  cab;  and  once  again  Guy 
mounted  to  his  seat  with  the  driver,  to  face  the  December 
blasts,  and  smoke  a  second  consoling  cigar.  As  before,  Pau- 
lina sat  in  dead  silence  during  the  homeward  drive. 

Tliirty  minutes'  rapid  driving  brought  them  to  Berkeley 
Square.  In  front  of  Sir  Vano  Charteris'  mansion  the  cab 
stopped,  and  Mr.  Earlscourt  assisted  them  to  alight.  Then 
Paulina  directly  addr'^ssed  him  for  t>he  first  time. 

"I  shall  tell  Sir  Vane  Charteris,  the  moment  I  enter,  what 
has  taken  place,"  she  hurriedly  said;  "and  if  you  will  call, 
within  an  hoyr  or  so,  the  other  business  of  paying  over  tho 
forty  thousand  pounds  will  be  t  ansactcd." 

"I  will  call,"  Guy  answere<l,  briefly,  "if  I  may  see  you  for 
a  moment  to  say  farewell. ' 

She  bent  her  head  in  token  of  assent,  and  flitted  up  tlio 
steps.  From  the  library  window  Sir  \'ane  Charteris  had 
watched  the  "whole  extr.  ordinary  i)roceeding,  utterly  '•^^' 
tounded.  What  did  it  mean?  Had  this  reckl«ss  girl  out- 
witttnl  them  after  all?  He  came  forth  into  the  liall.  She 
..flung  back  her  vi^ii  for  the  lit  t  time,  and  met  his  angry,  sus- 
picious .t4.')K0  witii  {Jasliiug,  karless  eyes.     Tho  sight  of  liini 


"On  I 
Worth 


A  Mad  Marriage. 


215 


id 


red- 

mpa- 

i  the 

your 

piAity 
more. 
t\ct  of 
, — bow 

luswer, 
swoo«. 
solcnm 
ibe  was 
er  than. 
^ly,  and 


a  bow; 

uvt.'- 

boy  leit 
ill  (»viy 
(H'einber 

lue,  Tii^- 

berlveley 

the  cab 

It.    Tben 

Iter,  what 

Urn  call, 

over  tbo 


[e  you 


lor 


U\  up  t^'O 

•tcris  bad 

torly  ^^^' 

o-irl  o>^t" 

■all  ^^^® 

...111* 

nijfTy 


SU8- 


ibt  of  ^^^ 


restored  all  her  aiidaoity,  ?\\  her  dc  poratc  courage  and  de- 
fiance.    Weakness  and  faintnesd  were  wholly  gone  now. 

"Miss  Lisle,"  ho  doniandrd,  sternly;  "what  dtws  this 
mean  ?" 

"Sir  Vane  ChaiU'ris,"  ^he  returtetl,  meeting  his  swartli 
frown  without  Hinching,  "it  iiH>ans  that  you  are  outwitted 
— vanquished — that  you  are  no  longer  my  tyrant,  nor  I  your 
slave.  It  means  that  at  last  I  am  out  of  your  power — it 
means  that  I  am  free !" 

Ilis  dark  face  turned  yellow  with  rage.  As  plainly  alT  he 
ever  understood  it  after,  he  understood  on  tlie  instant  what 
had  taken  place.     She  had  married  Guy  Earlscourt. 

"Go  into  the  library,"  he  said,  brielly,  and  she  went.  He 
followed  her,  and  closed  the  door.  She  stood  before  him, 
proudly  erect,  her  eyes  alight,  her  haughty  head  thrown  hack, 
her  resolute  face  white  as  death.  "You  have  married  Guy 
Earlscourt?" 

"I  have  married  Guy  Earlscourt !" 

And  then,  for  fully  five  minutes,  they  stood  face  to  face — 
as  two  combatants  in  a  duel  to  the  death.  U  was  all  over 
then — rage  as  he  "might — storm  as  he  would — it  was  done, 
and  not  to  be  undone.  She  was  married,  and  out  of  his 
power — her  fortune  her  own — he  could  do  nothing — nothing! 

"I  am  married,"  Paulina  said,  her  voice  ringing  hard  and 
clear.  "To  escape  one  brother  I  have  asked  the  other  to 
marry  me.  You  hear  that,  Sir  Vane  Ckarteris — asked  him 
to  marry  me — driven  to  it  by  you  and  Lord  ]\rontalien.'  1  over- 
heard your  plot  to  carry  me  off  to  ^The  Firs,'  and  bury  mo 
alive  there,  until  I  should  be  forced  into  a  marriage  with  a 
man  I  hate.  Sir  Vane  Charteris,  if  there  had  been  no  other 
escape,  I  w^ould  have  escaped  by  death.  Guy  Earlscourt,  on 
the  eve  of  his  exile,  has  married  me,  and  freed  me  from  your 
power." 

"On  the  eve  of  his  exile,  Paulina!  The  husband  of  a  lady 
worth  eighty  thousand  pounds  need  hardly  think  of  exile." 

"No;  in  his  place  you  certainly  would  not.  Mr.  Earlscourt, 
however,  happens  to  possess  the  manliness  and  genero.-ity  to 
leave  me  free  in  the  hour  that  makes  hk^  his  wife.  Do  you 
think,  Sir  Vane,  I  am  going  to  let  the  world  know  my  secret'? 
— do  you  think  I  would  have  married  Mr.  Earlscourt  if  he 
had  meant  to  remain  in  England?  lie  has  sworn  never  to 
betray  the  secret  of  our  marriage,  and  he  will  keep  his  oaih. 
In  an  hour  he  will  be  here,  and  you  are  to  makr  over  to  hiui 
the  half  of  my  fortune — Torty  tliousav.d  i)onnds.  In  two 
days  he  leaves  England,  and — f()rev(>r." 

She  turned  to  quit  the  room.  The  bewildered  baronet  de- 
tained her. 


■  \ 


2l6 


A  Mad   Marriage. 


"For  Heaven's  yakc,  Paulina,  wait!     ]  ilon'c  audcrstanu— 

1  can't  understand.     Do  you  mean  to  say  this  marriage  is 

no  marriage^     That  (Juy  Karlseourt  leayes  you  free  and  lor- 

♦  everC     Tliat  lie  goes  from  England  never  to  return,  while  you 

remain   here  ("^ 

"Precisely!  You  can't  comprehend  such  generosity  as  that, 
vnn  you  ^  You  would  act  very  differently  under  the  circum- 
stances, aftd  so  would  his  immaculate  brother.  Lord  Monta- 
lie^i.  But  there  are  true  men.  This  marriage  shall  never  bo 
made  public  if  you  keep  the  secret — my  maid  is  sworn  to  se- 
crecy, and  I  shall  still  be  Miss  Lisle  and  your  ward  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world.  If,  however,  you  prefer  it  otherwise — tluMi 
1  shall  take  care  to  show  you  as  you  are  to  society — a 
guardian  so  bas»s  so  tyrannical,  that  he  drove  his  ward  to  the 
maddest  step  ever  woman  took.     Now  choose!" 

She  stood  before  Irm  in  her  beauty  and  her  pride,  more 
defiantly  bright  thaa  he  had  ever  setni  her.  He  knew  her 
well  enough  to  know  she  would,  to  the  letter,  keep  her  word. 
He  came  forward  suddenly,  and  took  her  hand. 

"I  will  k«H^p  your  secret,  Paulina,"  he  said;  "and  I  beg  you 
to  forgive  me  if  1  have  been  harsh.  I  havt  been  driven  to  it 
• — I  have  indeed — I  am  in  J-.ord  Montalien's  power,  and  he 
forced  me  to  do  this.  I  will  keep  your  secret — from  hini, 
from  my  sister — from  the  world.  ]-.et  things  go  on  as  thougli 
this  strange  marriage  had  never  taken  place;  you  are  free  to 
do  in  all  things  as  you  will — L  in  the  eyes  of  society,  your 
guardian  still.  I  am  sorry  for  the  past;  1  can  say  no  more. 
Paulina,  will  you  try  to  forgive  me  il" 

"J.  will  try,"  she  answered,  bitterly,  and  gathering  her 
mai.tle  about  her,  quitted  the  room. 

She  went  up  to  her  own,  threw  off  her  wraps,  fell  on  h<r 
kn"cs  by  the  bedside,  and  buried  her  face  in  the  satin  cov*  i- 
h  I.  She  shed  no  tears,  though  her  heart  was  full;  she  <  'y 
lay  there — sick,  tired,  numbed,  as  though  sh-^  never  cared  .i< 
rise  again. 

No  one  disturbed  her;  the  minutes  went  by,  the  mornin.tr 
with  its  life  and  bustle  wore  on.     At  half-i)ast  eleven  Jai.t 
tapped  at  the  door. 

"H  you  please,  Miss  Paulina,  Sir  Vane  sends  his  conipli 
ments,  and  would  you  stej)  down  to- the  library.     Mr.  Ivarls- 
court  is  there." 

She  rose  up  slowly,  painfully,  and  Went  down.  It  was  due 
to  him  she  should  go,  but  if  he  had  only  spared  her  this. 

Sir  Vane  admitted  her,  and  locked  the  door  the  instant  slie 
entered.  Another  ligure,  trailer,  slighter,  stood  leaning 
against  the  mantel  staring  moodily  into  the  fire.  Ai  him 
Paulina  did  not  dar«  to  look^ 


m 


A  M:id   Marriage. 


117 


^'ifou  told  Yxw,  my  (Nmi."  '  C  hiintin  t  said,  in  his  most 
kindly  voice,  "tlimt  Mr.  I^iitl-comi  uus  to  accept  lialf  your 
fortune.     There  must  l»e  son.c  ii.i>l.;k(-   lie  utterly  refuses  to 

doit."  ; 

She  turned  to  him  with  staith'd  eyes.     (Juy  siiiile<l. 

"That  part  of  the  compact  was  jk^i  in  the  hoiui  at  least. 
If  I  liave  served  you  1  am  ecntent.  I  ca)i  mily  Iioik*  tliat  tlio 
day  may  never  come  when  you  will  nurct  uk  re  than  you  do 
at  present  this  morning's  work.  For  the  money,  I  distinctly 
refuse  it.  J  have  fallen  very  low;  hut  1  find  there  is  still  a 
lower  depth  than  that  to  which  I  Injvc  sunk.  To  accept  your 
generous  offe  would  he  a  dcMradatfon  you  must  permit  me  to 
decline.  1  leave  Kn^laiid  in  two  tlay<  forever,  in  all  hninau 
j>robahility ;  hut  if.  at  the  otlier  side  of  the  world,  the  day 
comes  when  my  wre.-ked  fortunes  ;.i-e  retrieved,  and  I  can  re- 
turn with  honor,  i  will  return.  'Jliat,  too,  was  not  in  the 
hond." 

Hhv  looked  at   him — trcndding — white  to  the  lips. 

"You  will  return,"  she  slov,Iv  repi-ated. 

"If  I  can,  with  credit  to  myself— with  my  debts  paid;  uiost 
certiaiidy.  l^nt  you  need  Inive  no  fear;  T  will  keep  n»y  oath. 
.Never,  come  what  may  in  the  future,  shaU  1  betray  your  se- 
<ret.  Whether  oceans  divide  us,  or  we  stand  side  by  side 
nj.'-ain,  will  make  no  ditTcrence.  If  I  have  saved  you  from  my 
half  brother,  I  am  ^a'isfied — 1  ask  no  more.  And  now, 
Paulina,  for  (he  sake  of  old  times,  say  'farewell,  and  j;ood 
.^jxed'  before  I  pro.'' 

Jfe  held  out  his  hand,  the  smile  that  lit  it  into  such  rare 
beauty  bright  on  his  face  and  in  his  eyes.  He  stood  b^'fore 
her,  handsomer,  nobler  than  any  man  she  had  ever  beheld,  in 
his  generous  renunciation — his  great  self-sacrifice;  and  her 
lieajt  went  out  to  him — and  in  that  moment  she  knew  that 
she  loved  the  man  she  had  married. 

She  gave  him  her  hand — her  proud  head  drooping  in  an 
agony  of  shame,  of  remorse,  of  pity,  of  teiulerness.  If  her 
life  had  depended  on  it,  she  could  not  have  spoken  even  tlie 
"good  speed''  he  asked.  Her  lingers,  icy-ccdcl,  w(Te  clasped 
for  a  second  in  his  warm,  firm  grasp — one  half-sad,  half- 
f^miling  look  from  the  \>rown  eyes,  and  then  she  had  fled  from 
the  room. 

They  had  parted — perhaps  forever — and  in  the  hour  that 
'A\Q  lost  hiru,  she  knew  that  she  loved  him  with  a  love  that 
uould  last  a  life.  She  was  his  wife,  but  she  would  have  died 
a  thousand  deaths  rather  than  say,  "Guy.  don't  go!"  and  die 
knew  how  utterly  unavailing  tlie  words  would  have  been,  if 
she  could  havf^  crusJied  down  her  woman's  pride  and  spoken 
them.    It  wa&  as  fixed  %a  fate  that  he  should  eo.    And  «« 


,')  I 


^i: 


4 


2l8 


A  Mad   Marriage. 


she  had  lal<eii  her  leap  in  tho  tlurk — taken  it  blindly,  des- 
perately— to  save  herself  from  a  worse  fate.  And  the  hour  of 
her  bridchood  was  the  hour  of  her  widowhood — in  the  fuUe^st 
sense  of  the  words,  she  was  wedded,  yet  no  wifel 

Two  days  after  th(;  Oneida  steamed  down  the  Solent  from 
SouthaniptoH,  bearing  away  to  his  long  exile  Guy  Eurlscourt. 


#       » 


■f^ 


i 


/.     '» 


?'v/ 


HaKT  ^^OUHi.. 


CHAI'TKU  I. 


Arri:ii    six    vf-\hs 


j.|i| 


ic  was  a  hot  night  in  Virginia. 

I'p  and  down  a  long,  bun'-lo(»i<ing  room,  as  iuUvvv  paced 
restlessly,  his  hands  crossed  behind  Itini,  Ins  brow  bout,  his 
Hy(\s  iixed  on  the  floor.  The  nxnn  was  the  privnte  iipaittrK  rit 
nf  the  officer  commanding  the  eavalry  division  stiitioned  for 
tlie  time  at  this  outpost,  and  the  officer  was  Colonel  jjjiwks- 
ley,  of  tJie  — th,  IJe  was  a  very  tal),  \ory  fair  man,  tin's 
('olonel  flawksley,  with  a  face  so  thoroughly  Sa.\(jti  that  n(ft 
all  the  bronze  of  foreign  sums  could  hi«le  his  nationality.  lie 
hiid  dark,  close-cropped,  brown  hair,  a  niugnificciit  tiiwuy 
beard  and  uiustache,  and  eyes  blue  and  bright  :is  the  X'irginia 
sky  without.  lie  was  a  man  oi"  six-aiid-forty ;  magniticenf  ly 
jir<jportioned — a  model  for  an  ath!<'tie  Ajxtllo — looking 
younger  than  his  years,  despite  the  silver  threa<ls  streaking 
Ins  brown  hair,  and  the  deejj  lines  that  can'  or  thought  had 
plowed  along  his  broad  brow. 

Tj)  and  down,  up  and  down,  Coionej  JIawk.-.ley  paced,  with 
iliat  thoughtfid  frown,  for  npwar<l  f>f  an  hour. 

"Who  is  he^"  he  uiuttere<l,  hulf-ali>ud ;  'Sviiat  is  lie  to  ]\i  y'i 
If  anything,  why  is  he  hereof — if  nothing,  how  came  he  by  her 
[•icture?  "J'he  night  is  fine;  he  is  e  iiHl»ieiitly  rccovere*!  to 
walk  over.  I  have  half  a  mind  to  sci  d  for  him,  restore  him 
]i!s  prop'erty,   and   ask '' 

He  stopped  tt>  glance  out  iit  the  night.  The  great,  briglit 
Southern  stars  blazed  in  a  cloudless  >ky.  not  a  bnitl;  <»f  air 
stirr(d  the  hot  stillTK\ss — it  was  certainly  (piite  fine  enough 
for  jiuy  one  to  vejiture  out.  The  colonel  rang  a^ handbell, 
with  a  look  of  (bvision.     An  orrh.Tiy  apj>eai'ed. 

"(io  to  the  hospital,  and  iwjue-t  Lieutciumt  Karlst  ourt,  if 
qnite  able,  to  wait  ujxai  mc  licic"' 

The  soldier  tonchcd  his  ca[)  and  v.ithdrcw. 

Tl'.o  colonel  glance<l  at  a  little  package  lying  ii;)o!i  the 
table.  It  was  a  gold  repeater,  >-f't  with  jewels,  and  ieui^ifij? 
Ircm  the  slender  gold  chain  a  bucket  of  rare  beauty  anl  wiirk- 
manship.  The  officer  took  up  this  If.'ckrt,  touched  the  >pring, 
and  looked  long  and  cHrtiestly  at  th«  face  within.    A  beauti- 


220 


After  Six  Years 


fill  and  .lo'lo  inoo,  niul  a  j!:r:i('('fiil.  girll.-ih  l];rr»at  -V.:?  pbotr^ 
i.\:.\]  li  i.f  pjuiliii  1  I/'m!('. 

"VVIwit  is  hc'  to  hcr^ — how  cmiiics  he  to  wear  lic?r  porli'i'J 
iNx'H  hi'  know  ?--but,  of  c-oursc,  lio  docMii't!     It  ia  Strang', 
strjiii^e." 

It  was  ^oii'cwliiit.  'I  he  circiiiiisluiKT'-i  wfrc  llic^e:  A  hatil< 
liiid  taken  i)la<'o  tivi*  weeks  liofnre;  and  during  the  licat  of  ih- 
<'ii«;aKonient,  Coloiirl  I  lauksK-y's  allention  Imd  'oeen  attract  J 
by  a  younjj;  ottieer  of  liis  own  tnjop,  wliose  cool  oouraKO  ."Uil 
superb  fiKhtiiitr  rendii'cd  him  conspieuoiis  oven  in  that  hum. 
The  battle  had  ra^cd  froni  early  iiioniin}^  nutil  dark,  aiiil  .ill 
day  lon^,  whei-e  the  fire  uas  hoth'St,  and  llio  blows  fell  thiik- 
est,  the  dark  face  and  tall  form  of  IJeuten«nt  (jruy  Kari  - 
<'ourt  had  been  foreniowt.  And  at  last,  as  vietory  turned  in 
tlieir  favor,  half-a-dozen  tremulous  blows  aimed  at  Iiim  it 
ouee  had  hurled  him  from  his  sachlle.  "Killed,"  the  eoloin  I 
thought,  with  a  passing  pang  of  regret,  beyond  a  doubt. 

It  looked  like  it  when  they  earried  his  senseless  form  inio 
the  hospital,  and  among  the  list  of  "killed"  returned  after  fii<; 
fray  was  the  name  of  "Lieutenaiit  Ouy  Karlseourt."  But  Ik; 
had  not  died.  Covered  with  wt)unds  from  head  to  foot,  tin  n- 
was  not,  as  it  tiwned  out,  one  of  them  mortal — not  even  very 
dangerous.  — 

In  five  weeks  Lieutenant  Karlseourt  was  able  to  quit  his 
bed,  and  walk  about,  for  a  few  moments  at  a  time,  in  the  hos- 
pital yard. 

On  the  day  sueceeding  the  battle,  wdiile  he  still  lay  senc- 
les3,  his  colonel  had  visited  the  hospital  expressly  to  make  in- 
quirias  after  him.  The  young  man  liad  fought  so  daring !>, 
his  coolness  had  been  so  remarkable,  and  somoihing  in  iiii 
general  air  and  manner  marked  him  different  from  his  ouin- 
rades.  He  lay  terrHdy  like  death  now,  but  the  rare  beauty  if 
his  face,  that  had  made  him  the  pet  of  boudoirs  in  anotli'T 
land,  that,  had  made  scores  cf  higli  born  beauties  smile  up^n 
him,  was  unmarred  still.  Whiter,  c(diler  than  marble,  he  1  iv 
— the  breath  scarce  stirring  his  bloodless  lij)s. 

"Poor  lad!"  Colonel  Tli^wksley  said,  looking  down  oc -m 
him  with  real  regret;  "h(^  fought  lilce  a  lion  yesterday.  W'li* 
•is  he,  and  where  does  he  belong?"' 

No  one  knew.  Except  his  name,  an<l  tliat  he  had  eiitenii 
the  ranks  as  a  private,  there  was  simply  nothing  whatevi-r 
known  of  his  story. 

"Look  here,  colonel."  the  nur-'e  said;  "this  belongs  to  him, 
and  should  be  taken  (*are  of  until  we  see  I''  the  poor  fello,; 
recovers.     His  name  is  on  it — engraved  here  on  the  ease." 

She   handed   him   the  gold   watch   and   chain    and   lock' ' 
Either  intc  itionally  or  by  accident,  she  touched  the  sprim;    a 


After  Six  Ye: 


2?! 


})Hn(lIinj?  it,  and  the  lo<-|<(.|  tl<\v  <>\y'\\.  And  (il.iru'i  II.wUh- 
]ey,  with  a  startlcci  <\('l}niijiti(tii,  citn^lit  ii  up.  .u.il  1  •••kcd  in 
iiniuzc  upon  ids  djiuf^'litcr's   fjiir,  pnjtid   j'iKr 

if.  was  a  vi^r.'Httc  of   I*auliiia    \a<U    l)cy,;in!  a   d.>;:'.  t.      Ifo 
wrirc  ofic  near  ids  dwii  in  jirl,  a  lairr  pictu»<'.  in  wliirij  (!;"  <  x- 


f'/.»il 
•  I  >^  n 


iidsito  face  l(tnl<('d   dlder,  fxi'avcr,  less  l)rl^iilly  snd!; 
in  tlds — l)ut  tiie  sauii'. 

'i'iiis  stran^r-r  was  an   Iji^rlisluinin,   iIk  n,  an  I    h  i-i 
I'aulina. 

llo  cxaniinrd  file  watcli  closely,      I'c-idc  lii-*  nm  < 
tlio  crost  of  a  iioldc  iioursc — a  mailed  hand,  and   tl':* 
"Semper  Fidel  is." 

(lolnncl   liawk^lcy's  int«M-cst  d<  cpc!ic<l  tn  Intcn-c  c 
Wi»o  was  tins  ydwii^  rn;in  wiio  had  entered  flic  rank^  <;f  t!i:dr 
winiy  as  a  cnmrnon  soldier,  and  who  wm-e  ins  daughter's  pic- 
fnre  and  tiic  crest  of  an  En>j:lisli  nol)lenuin  ^ 

"He  looks  like  an  Enfilishitnm,  in  sj)ite  of  his  oIi\e  skin 
Hfid  jet-black  hair  and  innstaelie.  Heaven  >end  hini  a- speedy 
recovery,  or  I  sliall  ])eri>li  mi-erahly  liy  curiosity." 

The  coloticl's  prayer  was  heard — laeuteinnit  Karlscourl's 
recovery  was  astonishing:  in  its  rai»idity,  considering  his 
dozen  wounds.  And  on  tins  niji'ht  susj)ense  was  to  he  hoi-ne 
no  longer,  and  Colonel  Ilawk^ley  had  dis[)atched  the  orderly 
to  summon  the  invalid  hero  to  his  presence. 

Fifteen  minutes  wore  away.  Then  the  orderly's  kii  ^-k 
cimie  to  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  the  colonel  cried,  flinpin^'  liimself  for  tlie  fir^t 
time  into  a  chair;  and  the  door  oi»ened,  and  Lieutenant  Kar's- 
court  stood  before  him,  with  a  nnlitary  saJute. 

"You   sent  for  me,  colonel  '^" 

".I  did,  sir.  Come  in  and  take  a  seat;  you  are  unfit  to 
stand.  I  trust  there  has  heeji  no  itnyirudenc(»  in  your  ventnr- 
iii;.'  into  the  night  air'!" 

"None  whatever,  colonel,  T  am  happy  to  say.  My  s<'r;it<-hes 
are  pretty  well  healed — I  slndl  he  fit  for  service  a^aln  in  a 
wr-ek." 

The  colonel  snnled — he  liked  the  hold,  -oldi(  rly  s])!i'it  Ia) 
liked  the  look  and  manner  of  th<'  man  altoj^cther. 

"Hardly,  I  fear,"  he  said,  and  indeed  the  lieutenant,  wiili 
his  arm  in  a  sling,  and  his  dark  face  still  terribly  thin  :::ul 
bloodless,  did  hardly  look  lik(^  it. 

"T  have  been  very  anxious  for  your  recovery,  lieut(  ntnt  - 
that  we  can't  spare  so  brave  a  fellow,  for  one  reason;  tint  f 
^  .mt   most  anxiously   to   ask    you    a  few   (piestion^.    for   ;in- 


omer. 


7? 


The  wounded  lieutenant  listened  in  grave  silence.     He  ha<l 
[taken  a  seat  at  the  desire  of  his  officer,  and  the  lamplight  fell 


323 


After  Six  Years. 


fi»il  upon  Ilia  hnndsonjc.  palli<l  fafo,  while  that  of  tho  (»lil  >? 
111. Ill  WJH  in  thf  .-hiKhnv.  What,  duos  it  matter  now  whctli-r 
tiu'.v  wore  tlir  l)liM'  (tr  tU«;  K'''*'y  •  1  hey  wcn^  both  iCnjj^li'i. 
riKMi,  iiiid  fou^rht  for  the  Cau.-'-c  witli  whii'li  their  synipath.i -. 
l.y. 

"I  have  a  portion  of  your  property  in  my  poi-sftssion,"  eun- 
timit'd  Colonel  llawivslcy,  "friven  in  cliMr^e  to  me  on  I'lc 
day  after  the  battle.  Permit  mo  to  return  it  to  you,  nnii  ;.) 
own  that,  by  tho  merest  ('han<'e,  1  saw  and  recoj^nizcfd  ihn 
faeo  you  wear  in  that  loeket." 

(iuy  p]arlse<<urt  took  his  prcjju'rty.  To  bo  v<'ry  much  sin-- 
prised  at  anything  wowld  hav«*  beO!i  in  direet  opposition  to 
all  tho  codes  of  his  life.  His  fa(?o  betrayed  none  whatew." 
now. 

"Recognized  it,  did  you  i  \  shouldn't  havo  thouj^ht  tli:tt. 
A  very  handsome  fa^'o,  eoloncd — is  it  not  ^" 

Colonel  Ifawksloy  produ('e<l  from  an  inner  pookot  a  ph'»t  i- 
graph, ^iiid  handed  it  to  liim. 

"1  received  this  from  England  some  throo  months  ai^D. 
Tlu^  face  you  wear  is  younger,  but  tho  satne." 

C»uy   ICarlscourt  looked  Ion;;-  and  earnestly  at  this  aoeond 
picture — of  what  he  felt  his  calm  face  showing  no  siffn  wli.if 
ever.     It  was  Paulina,  six  years  older  than  when  Ihj  had  •"  <  ii 
lier  last,  more  beautiful  in  her  stately  womanhood  even  tiiati 
the  brij^^ht,  j^irlish  face  and  form  ho  remendiored  srt  well. 

He  handed  it  back  with  a  bow  and  smile. 

"Years  mar  some  of  us;  they  })ut  add  to  Paulina  Li>1i'-! 
crown  of  beauty.  It's  six  years  since  I  saw  her,  and  she  h:is 
changed;  but  I  should  recognize  that  face  anywhere.  It  is 
not  tho  kind  of  face  one  sees  every  day." 

His  colonel  watched  him  as  he  spoke- -keenly — closely— 
but  his  serene  countenance  kept  his  secrets,  if  he  had  ihein, 

well. 

".Mr.  Earlscourt,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "I  am  Roing  to  a-k 
you  -eeminR-ly  a  very  impertinent  question,  which,  of  cour-c, 
you  are  at  liberty  to  answer  or  not,  as  you  choose.  What  is 
Paulina  Lisle  to  you?" 

Ciuy  smiled — perfectly  unembarrassed. 

"An  ac(iuaintance,  colonel,  whom  I  met  in  all  about  half  :i- 
dozeii  times  in  my  life,  who  doesn't  in  the  least  know  that  I 
havo  tho  audacity  to  wear  her  picture.  T  was  guilty  of  potty 
larceny — abstracted  it  from  a  friend's  album  on  the  eve  of 
my  departure  from  England.  T  admired  Miss  Lisle  vory 
much,  as  all  men  must  who  have  the  happiness  of  knovviiiL' 
hor,  and  I  fancied  I  could  not  bring  with  ma  to  my  exiio  aj 
fairer  memento  of  the  life  I  left.  That  is  the  history  of  her| 
picture  in  my  locket."  '. 


After  Six  Years. 


323 


inlK'li   "^iii'- 
po^iti<>^  to 


With  tho  'rfinitr  cnlin  'x\\iv]\  n.ifurc  mu]  liahit  butli  li.ul 
jrivcn  him,  ho  rcpliu-ciJ  llu;  wutc)i  in  hi&  belt  and  wuilod 
ijiiij'tly  for  his  coiiiiMiiiion  in  ."jxak. 

"And  I  his  is  uHT'  Cohuicl  lluvvk>U\v  snid.  'I  fjucicd  you 
ii.i;.^l)t  iuivc  h(.'(  ri-* " 

"A  (lisc'ard('(i  lover?  No,  (.'oloiicl,  1  ncvir  was  tiiat.  JMiss 
l-islc,  witli  lior  K''<'iit  hcaiily,  and  licr  ^n  at  f-trt'iiu',  was  alto- 
(Tfth'T  above  my  Jiumltlc  reach.  Oiu,'  might  a«  soon  h)vo 
Komc  bri;,dit  j)arlii  nhir  star,  otcv' 

"Above  y(Jiir   reach,    and   you   wear   the   en  >!    ol"   a    noblo 


Una  Li  si''-' 
and  sho  h:is 
here.     It  \^ 

\f — closely- 
had  llicin, 

oinp  to  i'-'^ 
1,  of  eoii !•-<■, 
;e.     What  is 


bout  hnlf  :i- 
know  th:it  I 
ilty  of  pelty 
the  evp  ct 
Lisle  very 
of  knovyiiiu 
my  exile  a 
istory  of  her 


tliil|K( 


.'/" 


"A  wliim,  perliaps,  like  wearing  ^\U^  Liale'b  i>ortrait."' 

"Y'ou  are  an  KiiKlishman,  at  least." 

"I'ndonbtedly,   colonel.'' 

"May  1  ask  liow  many  years  .since  you  tir.>t  came  io  U\\:', 
•ountry  i" 

"Six  years,  i)reelsely,  ne.xt  January." 

"I  am  afraid  my  (lue-tions  are  intrusive — impertinent, 
perhaps;  l)ut  1  am  an  Knglislmian  my.-elf,  and,  .someluiw,  I 
fe(>l  a  singular  interest  in  you.  ^'ou  remintl  nie — -yuur  voice 
--your  manner — of  one  whom  I  knew  tvv(!nty-two  y<ujr3  ago. 
I  wonder  if  yoii  knew  him — he  was  a  man  of  rank — Lord 
Mnntalien." 

Ili.s  lieutemnit  looked  at  tlio  si»eaker,  su<ldenly,  with  a  nev 
interest,  a  new  intelligc.'nce  in  his  glance.     At  tlie  jnentioi:  ol 
fatlier's  name  all  Ixcamo  clear.     Why,  the  very  n;une  ot 
Ilawksley  nnght  have  t^'ld  him,  taken  in  connection  with  the. 
recognition  of  l*,iuliiia's  i)icture,  this  man  was  her  father! 

"You  knew  Lord  Montalien !!''  Colonel  Ilawksley  said, 
I  loaning  forward.  "Your  face  .shows  it,  at  least.  Yuu  are 
|like  him,  yet  unidce.    Was  he  anytlung  to  you i!" 

"Well,  yes;  he  v;as  my  fathor.'' 

"Your  father?" 

"Yes,  colonel.  You  were  not  aware,  i)erhai)s,  our  family 
|n;i«ie  is  Earlseourt?  My  elder  'brother  took  the  title  ujton 
nur  father's  death,  and  1 — well,  I  may  as  well  own  it — I 
|?quandered  my  patrimony  and  was  oliliged  to  fly  from  Eng- 
land six  years  ago,  over  he;id  and  ears  in  (lei)t.  That  is  my 
htory.  I  came  to  tliis  country  to  retrieve  my  fillen  fortunes, 
|as  poor  a  man  as  ever  landed  at  the  New  York  docks." 

Colonel  Hawkslcy  listened,  his  eye,'  lil  uj).  his  face  fuil 
|of  wonder  and  eager  interest. 

"And  have  you  retrieved  them?"  • 

"Well,  partly.  1  have  managed  in  those  six  years  to  pay 
Iff  the  greater* half  of  my  debts.  1  fancy  it  will  lie  half  a 
Idozen  years  more,  however,  before  I  have  sufficiently  cleared 
loff  my  incumbrances  to  return." 


■^ 


224 


/fter  Six  Years. 


?> 


"^'Deci  Icdly — as  . ooii  its  I  can 

"May  J  ask' in  what  way  you  have  succeeded  in  doing  even 

so  llUU'll  V 

Guy  lauirliocl, 

"By  (juili-'lrivinu,  coloiicl.  1  w',\a  alw'ny>i  a  Doliciiiian — the 
life  suited  'ne,  and  1  turned  journalist,  nui^a/ine  writ'.-r, 
l)ook-nud<er — all  that  tli('r(>  is  of  th(;  most  literary.  1  boiu;  ■; 
T  have  contributed  to  half  Uic  i)eriodi('als  of  Aineriea  aii'l 
London.  You  may,  by  ehance,  have  lit  on  the  nam  de  plume 
of " 

ITe  nM'utioncd  a  name  famous  then,  far  more  famous  nov, 
ill  the  annals  of  iictional  literature. 

"What!"  IFawksloy  exclaimed;  "are  you  the  author  of 
'Paul  Kutherford's  Wife?'" 

"I  am." 

''And  of  'Gold  and  Glitter?'" 

"Yes." 

"Why,  you  should  have  reali/.cd  a  fortune  from  the  sale  nf 
those  two  works  alon(>.  1'heir  popularity  over  here  has  bcin 
something:  inn»iense." 

"They  have  paid  toh^'ably  well — if  they  had  not  I  should 
not  have  been  able,  las  I  have  told  you,  to  pay  off  the  larLccr 
I>ortion  of  my  debts.  My  extravaj^'ances  in  the  past  make  my 
very  hair  rise  now.  I'm  a  reformed  character,  colonel;  th' i'* 
\vas  great  room  for  improvcunent,  too,  I  assure  you.  1  ])i)r- 
sned  my  scribbling;  here  in  camp;  it  passes  one's  leisiirt^ 
hours,  and  as  far  as  renjuneration  goes,  T  find  the  pen  <l- 
eidedly  'mightier  than  the  sword.'  " 

"Mr.  Earlscourt,"  tJie  colonel  said,  "you  are  one  of  t!ie 
cleverest  novelists  of  the  day."  Mr.  Karlscourt  bowed  wltli 
gravity.  "You  are  destined  to  become  a  famous  man,  and  1 
am  proud  to  h.ave  made  your  acquaintance.  ]t  was  as  yi^r 
father's  vard,  then,  you  first  met  my — Mi-s  Lisle?" 

"Your  daughter,  colonel — the  confidence  may  as.  well  be 
mutual.    Of  course,  I  know  you  are  Robert  Lisle." 

"Ah,  yes;  T  suppose  my  history  is  familiar  to  you  fruin 
your  father.'' 

"And  from  others.  Were  you  not  rather  surpriscMl.  colon;!, 
vl^en  you  discovered  upon  whom  niy  father  pitelu-d  as  liis 
successor  in  your  daughter's  guardianshij)?  Now  T  shouM 
imagine  Sir  Vane  Charteris  would  be  the  last  man  alive  y^n 
would  wisli  to  place  in  ])ower  over  Paidimi." 

A  dark  flusli  crei)t  up  over  the  pale  bronze  of  the  colon<Ti 


face, 

"And  why?"  ho  asked. 


'"^hall  I  really  answer  that  queetion,  colonel  ?    You  see  i 


•      -> 


After  Sin  Ye.irs. 


225 


loing  even 

iinian — tlie 
ne  \vrit'-r, 
I  boh.  * 
iierioa  iiii'l 
I  de  plunte 

imnus  uov.-, 

author  o'l 


tlie  sale  of 
ro  has  be  11 

ot  T  shoul'l 
f  tlie  hiru'iT 
st  make  my 
lonel;  th<  i-^ 
ou.  1  l»iir- 
p.e's  leis\irp 
tlie  pen  .K- 

one   of  l!ie 

bowed  with 

man,  and  I 

was  as  your 

as.  well  be 

o  you   fr-iiii 

S(mL  colonel, 

(.'IkmI  as  liii 
)w  T  should 
in  alive  yu 

the  colonfT-5 


You  SCO  A 


bave  had  time  to  think  siiu-c  I  came  out  hero,  and  I  have 
managed  to  eoniieul  past  eveiiis  pretty  eli^arly.  I  remeinbor 
my  father  telling  your  story  it  tlie  dinner  table,  and  l.ady 
Charteris — poor  Lady  Chnrteris — f;illiiif;-  in  a  <lead  faint  at 
the  mention  of  your  n;nne.  1  look  b.:iek.  and  remember  hear- 
ing: she  was  foreeil  to  marry  Sir  VaiH\  1  know  lh(\v  were  to- 
tally estranged  from  eaeh  other,  thnt  the  sliadow  of  a  life- 
long sorrow  lay  upon  her,  and  '  l.i".nv  sho  was  your  wife  and 
Paulina's  mother." 

Colonel  Ilawksley  bowed  liis  face  ou  lii>  hand.  l']ven  in 
the  shadow  (ruy  could  see  how  g*r  itly  he  was  moved. 

"Why  do  you  remain  here T'  he  asked.  "Why  Inre  you  not 
long  ago  gone  back  and  rescued  Ihm*  f'ron  a  fate  worse  than 
death.  You  were  her  hie;))and,  not  he;  you  !iad  the  rigiit. 
Why  not  have  roturiu  (?^and  chiimed  her  long  ago  f' 

^'Heaven  knows!  There  have  been  times,  of  late  years, 
when  1  have  thouglit  myself  the  veriest  coward  and  idiot  to 
be  hunted  down  as  I  was,  to  desert  her  to  her  tyrants.  J>ut  I 
lay  under  a  criminal  charge  which  I  could  not  disprove — and 
she  was  his  wife,  and  I  was  made  to  believe  loved  him.  And 
there  would  have  f(dlowed  expt)sure,  and " 

"Better  exposure  than  such  misery  as  she  has  been  mnd  \ 
to  suffer.  Colonel  IlavNksley,  do  you  know  she  is  the  iiima'  : 
of  a  madhouse  now?" 

"Yes,"  the  word  dropped  slowly,  heavily  from  his  pale  lips, 
"I  know." 

"Your  daughter  told  you.  I  wonder  you  did  not  return  to 
England  when  you  first  learned  that  Sir  Vane  Charteris  had 
been  appointed  her  guardian." 

"I  did  not  know  it  for  mariy  months  after.  She  wrote  mc 
from  France — telling  me  of  the  change,  and  that  slie  was  sat- 
isfied— that  I  was  in  no  way  to  trouble  myself  about  her. 
Then  the  war  began,  and  I  came  here,  and  I  shall  remain 
until  the  end.  Why  should  1  return  now?  England  holds 
nothing  but  bitter  memories  for  me." 

"Have  you  no  wish  to  see  your  daugliter?" 

"Every  wish.  When  she  is  some  good  man's  wH'e  I  shall 
ask  her  to  come  across  the  ocean  to  visit  me." 

"Have  you  no  wish  to  clear  the  blot  off  your  good  name — 
to  disprove  the  false  cluirge  brought  against  you  by  Ceoffrey 
Lyndith?" 

"It  would  be  impossible  after  all  tnese  years." 

"I  don't  see  that."  ^'^rviy  said,  coolly;  "more  difhcult  thi>igs 
are  done  every  day.  T.e-'bm  <'  loctives  nre  cl"ver,  and  you 
are  rich  enough  to  pay  chem  v.  11  for  tlieir  wovk.  (l(>offrey 
Lyndith  is  dead — ynu  are  free  to  return  if  jou  will — if  for  no 
Other's  sake,  for  that  of  your  wif§." 


226 


After  Six  Year«. 


Colonel  ITawksley  rose  up,  passionately. 

"Do  you  think  I  could  bear  to  see  her,*^  he  said,  ''libft 
that?  Why,  pood  Heavens,  the  thought  of  her  as  she  is  now 
nearly  drives  me  wild." 

"Insane,  you  meai\  Well,  now,  1  am  not  so  sure  of  that 
either.  P'very  one  is  not  insane  who  is  shut  up  in  a  mad- 
house." 

"Younf?  man,  what  do  you  mean?'* 

"Simply  this — that  whatever  Lady  Charteris  may  he  now, 
she  was  no  more  iiisane  than  you  or  I  when  placed  there 
first." 

"(Jreat  Heaven!" 

"Sir  Vane  Charteris. is  a  man  capable  of  a  very  villainous 
deed — I  am  quite  sure  of  that ;  and  up  to  a  few  week^  before 
the  fact  of  her  madness  was  announced  no  one  ever  thought 
of  doubting  her  ladysliii^'s  perfect  sanity.  They  were  es- 
trang-ed  for  years  and  years  before  tlie  birth  of  his  only 
daughter,  I  believe,  but  perfectly  civil  to  one  another.  Lady 
Charteris  fainted,  as  I  have  told  you,  when  my  father  related 
your  story  at  tlie  dinner  table,  after  his  appointment  as  Pau- 
lina's guardian.  That  night,  it  transpired,  she  fled  from  the 
Priory  to  the  house  in  S])eckhaven  in  which  Duke  Mason 
lived,  and  Sir  Viane  followed  and  brought  her  back,  Tt  was  a 
stormy  night,  I  recollect,  and  whether  from  the  wetting  she 
received,  or  her  excitement,  she  was  taken  very  ill.  As  soon 
as  she  was  able  to  be  removed,  Sir  Vane  took  her  up  to  town 
to  place  her  under  the  charge  of  the  ablest  physician.  The 
next  news  we  heard  was  that  she  had  gone  insane,  and  wjis 
placed  in  a  private  asylum.  No  one  vfas  permitted  to  visit 
her,  not  her  own  daughter  Maud,  but  in  spite  of  the  baronet's 
care,  the  form  of  her  lunacy  transpired.  She  refused  to  ac- 
knowledge Sir  Van  Charteris  as  her  husband — said  her  right- 
ful husband  was  alive  and  in  a  foreign  land.  Now,  think, 
whether  or  no  this  statement  was  the  utterance  of  insanity." 

"Great  Heaven!  my  poor,  heartbroken  Olivia.  If  I 
thought — if  I  thought  this  were  true " 

"You  would  return.  It  is  true!  Does  Lady  Charteris  still 
live?" 

"She  does.  Paulina  mentioned  her  in  her  last  letter.  Sk  ; 
had  asked  Sir  Vane  to  allow  her  to  visit  her — little  dreaming 
she  is  her  own  mother." 

".Ind  he  refused,  of  course;  and  will  go  on  refusing  to  tl  , 
end  of  the  chapter.  Poor  Irdy!  she  needs  some  friend  to  go 
to  her  deliverance,  in  the  power  of  such  a  man  n=^  Vane  Char- 
teris." 

The  colonel  paused  abruptly  in  his  walk,  came  over,  an*- 
laid  his  hand  heavily  on  the  youBger  maa's  shoulder. 


.^ 


y 


» 


still 


A  Belle  of  Ffve  Sea^^ons 


227 


'^KarlsL-.Lirt,"  ho  said,  "I  will  aro  Kick  to  England  aa 
Bpcc'dily  ;is  iii;i,\  bo,  and  you  slia'.l  act'oiiipaiiy  mo,  and  aid 
me  in  tW:  task  of  rcoovtTinir  and  rt'clainiin^  my  wile. 
H>>av('n  K^'init  \vc  may  not  be  t^^o  late." 

"AiTK'ii!  lint  ii's  r)nt  of  the  (|U«v-^tion  thai  I  sliould  return. 
Those  little  iloatinu  bill-*,  you  I'.now — and  tin*  Jews  do  come 
down  on  a  fellow  like  the  wolves  to  tlie  told.  I  sliall  have  to 
"writo  at  least  two  more  b.iyb'y  {vpiilar  novels  before  1  can 
face  the  Isra:ditos  of  I.ondon.'" 

*'Conie  with  nic'VIIawksley  said,  earnestly;  "I  ask  it  an  a 
favor.  For  your  dents  you  will  accept  a  loan  from  inc  until 
those  two  new  novels  are  written.  You  will  not  object — [ 
tijke  it  as  a  personal  favor  your  conn■nK^  Kngland  will  be  like 
a  strange  land  to  me  after  Ur  score  and  more  years.  You  will 
come?" 

lie  hold  out  his  hand — Guy  placed  his  thereip. 

**f  will  j?o,  colonel — thanks  all  the  same  for  your  kindness. 
And  nt  w,  with  your  permission,  I'll  retire — I  don't  feel  unite 
as  stronpr  as  Samson,  and " 

lie  reeled  slij^htly  as  ho  spoke — faint  and  f?i<l(ly  from 
weakness  and  recent  loss  of  blood.  The  colonel  hastily  i)Oure<l 
oat  a  p-lass  of  wine  and  held  it  to  his  lips. 

"I  should  not  have  broug:ht  you  out — you  will  be  the  worse 
for  tliis.  ^ly  servant  shall  accompany  you  to  your  (piarhTS 
— you  arc  not  fit  to  walk  over  that  distance  alone.  (Jood- 
ni-ht." 

"Good-niii"l}t,  colonel." 

The  orderly,  with  the  wounded  lieutenant,  crossed  the 
moonlit  sward  on  their  way  to  the  temporary  hospital.  And 
long  after  Guy  Karlscourt  lay  asleep,  witii  his  handsome  h(»;)d 
pillowed  on  his  arm,  a  smile  on  his  lips,  dreamitnr  of  Kr.j^'land 
and  I'aulina,  Colonel  Hawksley  paced  to  and  fro  in  his  apart- 
ment, thinkinj^  bitterly  of  his  wasted  life  and  of  the  fate 
that  had  held  him  and  the  wife  he  loved  ai)art. 

"J\[y  darling!''  he  said,  "my  darling!  and  you  always  loved 
me — always  wt>re  faithful — I  know  it  now.  And  T — ah, 
Heaven  f  why  did  T  not  brave  all  that  those  plotters  coidd  do, 
and  claim  you.  P>ut  the  day  of  retribution  is  at  hand,  and  let 
those  who  stand  between  us  take  care!'' 


CHAPTER  IT. 

A    BKLLE   OF    KnT:    SEASONS. 

'Taulina!" 

There  r^^a^  nr  reply.    The  lady  addrepsed  sat  absorbed  over 

book       '      t  ' 


228 


A  Belle  of  Five  Sensons, 


''Paulina,"  ratlier  louder,  "it  is  almost  five,  and  quite  time 
to  drive.      Do  you  hear^' 

"Well,  yes,  I  hear,  Maud,"  and  Paulina  Lisle  lifted  a  pair 
of  serf  ne,  sapphire-hue d  eyes  from  lier-book;  "hut  I  really 
don't  til  ink  1  shall  go.  It  is  very  pleasant,  hero  by  the  fire 
this  chilly  May  afternoon,  and  my  book  interests  me,  which 
is  nM>i'e  than   I  can   say  for  the  ri<le,  or  the  ring." 

"What!"  cried  Maud  Charteris,  "luvt  even  when  this  is 
the  rirst  day  of  Lord  Ileatherland's  return  from  Scotland* 
and  you  have  not  seen  him  for  a  fortnight.  You  are  sure  to 
meet  him  in  the  J'ark,  and  all  I've  got  to  say  is,  that  I  hoi)e, 
when  Pm  engaged,  PlI  I  o  a  little  more  anxious  to  see  my 
fiancee  than  that.  But  then,  of  course,  it  is  an  understood 
thing  that  the  beautiful  Miss  l.iale,  the  belle  of  London,  has 
no  heart.  I  don't  supi)ose  it  is  at  all  a  necesspry  adjunct  to  a 
future  di.chess." 

There  v.as  just  the  slightest  tinge  of  envy  in  the  tone  of 
Miss  Maud  Chaiteris,  as  she  said  these  last  words.  She 
would  never  be  a  duchess,  and  she  knew  it.  She  was  a  small, 
sallow-complexioned  girl  of  one-and-twenty  now,  very  pale 
and  sickly,  with  eyes  like  sloes,  and  dead,  black  hair,  and  a 
look  of  Sir  Vane  Charteris  all  over  her  wan,  fretted  face. 

The  eyes  of  Paulina  Lisle  fell  suddenly  and  rested  on  the 
fire  with  something  like  a  smothered  sigh. 

"No  heart,  Mauil!"  sh(^  repeated,  slowly;  "I  sometimes 
think  it  would  be  better  for  half  of  us  if  that  impossibility 
could  occur,  and  we  were  born  without  heart,  without  mem- 
ory, without  conscience.  Our  past  enormities  would  not  then 
ris(^  up  to  embitter  our  whole  future  live:-s." 

Miss  Charteris  pulled  out  her  watch  impatiently. 

"1  didn't  come  here  to  talk  metaphysicns.  Miss  Lisle.  Aunt 
Eleanor  sent  me  to  see  if  you  were  ready, to  drive."  She  was 
in  elegant  carriage  costume  herself  as  she  spoke.  "You  don't 
really  mean  to  say,  Paulina,  that  a  new  book,  no  matter  how 
interesting,  is  a  stronger  attraction  to  the  reigning  beauty 
of  the  season  than  a  drive  along  the  Lady's  Mile,  at  the  fash- 
ionable hour,  on  a  lovely  May  day?  Don't  tell  me  so,  for  I 
couldn't  believe  it." 

"It  is  perfectly  true,  nevertheless.  My  book  is  intensely 
interestiwg,  and  the  daily  drive  at  the  same  hour,  in  the  same 
place,  seeing  the  same  faces,  acknowledging  the  same  bows, 
becomes  after  five  seasons — well,  to  speak  mildly,  rather  mo- 
notonous." _f       , 

"What's  your  book,  Paulina?" 
'     "Tnder    the    Southern    Cross,'    by    the    author   of    *Paul 
Rutherford's    Wife'    and    'Gold    and    Glitter,'    the    two   best 
novels  of  the  day,  yau  remember.     Even  you,  Maud,  who 


'Paul 

o   best 
1,  who 


"  A  Belle  of  Five  Seasons 


229 


never  read  anylhiiij;  ox-.-pt  \hv  Court  ('ircHl,>r  imd  the  Mi>in- 
xnt)  I'ifst,  read  thciji." 

"I  reineniher.  Tlhv  were  houks  of  English  society,  and  1 
read  tlicni  because  they  wire  so  true  to  nature,  to  reality. 
Half  the  books  of  that  class  are  th(^  most  \vre}clie<l  carica- 
tuies.  1'his  man.  evidently,  kiiows  wlwit  he  is  writing'  about. 
TIk.v  were  charminfr  stories.  Do  you  know,  Paulina,  the 
h<'r()ine  of  the  first  was  very  like  you!" 

"Like  luo!  Is  that  a  com|)liment  t()  m(>  or  ^^a^^'■aret 
Rutherford,  I  windei-^" 

"To  you.  Paul  Rutherford's  wife  was  a  bewitcliin^  ererf- 
ture,  and  I  ara  perfectly  sure  she  was  drawn  from  real  life — 
from  you,  Miss  J. isle." 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Paulina,  .-ith  a  smile;  "as  far  as  I  can 
re.Hend)er,  she  was  an  impulsive,  hea<istronf^%  rebellious,  pas- 
sionate woman,  with  sood  impnlsps.  I  ^-rant,  hut  spoiling 
evrvry thing  by  her  reckless  impetuosiiy.  Y(\s,  I  suppose,  that 
was  like  me — in  the  past,  Maud."  A  .thish  rose  for  a  moment 
over  the  perfect  pallor  of  her  face,  "l  shudder — I  sicken 
when  T  think  of  my  desperate^  deeds  of  the  past.  Good 
Heaven!  what  a  perfectly  wild,  perfectly  reckless  little  outlaw 
I  was!  Thofe,  Maud,  don't  look  so  disf-fusted,  dear  child.  I 
will  run  away  and  dress  and  prose  no  more." 

Miss  Charteris  walked  away  to  the  door  with  a  peculiarly 
sarcastic  smile  on  her  pale,  thin  lips. 

"Does  she  ever  talk  to  the  Most  Noble  the  Marquis  of 
Heatherland  like  this,  I  wond(>r'?"  she  said.  "Does  she  con- 
fess to  him  those  hcin  'is  crimes  and  secrets  of  the  ;)ast." 

"Lord  Heatherland  is  a  thousand  times  too  ffood  fr>r  such 
a  woman  as  I  am — no  o\w  knows  that  hotter  than  L  Xfaud." 

"But  you  don't  can^  a  Hg  for  him  all  the  same,  T*aulina; 
and,  in  spite  of  your  tine  romance  and  seeon<l-hand  senti- 
mentality, you  are  marrying  him  f<;r  his  rank  and  his  coro- 
net, just  as  I  or  any  of  us  in  Vanity  Fair  would  do.  Paulina  , 
Lisle,  you're  a — it's  not  a  very  elegant  word,  !mt  exceedingly 
expressive — vou're  a  hinnbug!" 

With  which  ^laud  Charteris  quitted  the  room,  and  Paulina 
was  alone, 

'^''h'>  half-sisters  C^till  ignorant  they  were  3Uv.h)  were  con- 
siderably attachecl  to  each  <j)ther. 

Maud,  with  envy  and  bitterness  in  her  h  art  for  the  other's 
great  beauty,  had  yet  a  sort  of  liking  and  .djuiraiioti  that 
even  her  own  sex  yieliii^d  Paulin;;. 

Look  at  her,  sitting  there  in  a  low  eliair  hoforr-  the  fire,  aii  1 
see  what"  Paulina  Lisle  has  become  at  four-an<l-twent.v!     Sh 
is  dre^ssed  in  her  morning  negligee  oi  silver-gray,  a  hand  or 
Unen  at  her  throat  and  wrists,  and  the  bronze  brown  hair,  rip* 


2?0 


A  ^eWe  ^'  five  Sei^sons. 


pling  low  on  the  perfect  forchoad,  gathered  in  a  shining  co?[ 
at  the  back  of  the  stately,  small  head.  She  is  tall,  slie  is 
grandly  proportioned,  every  movement  k  instinct  w^tli  grace 
and  majesty,  the  throat,  the  arms,  arc  marble  fair — slio  is  (.ne 
cf  those  exci  ptional  women  which  all  men  think  beautiful. 

A  beautiful  and  graceful  lady,  she  sits  luav,  with  softly- 
brooding  eyes  and  lips  a  little  parted,  even  in  reix)se,  tli ink- 
ing very  kindly,  if  not  lovingly,  of  the  nmn  whoui  in  three 
weeks  she  is  to  marry — the  Marquis  of  ITeatherland,  only  son 
of  the  Duke  of  Clanronald.  She  would  fain  sit  and  wait  for 
his  coming  here,  but  Mrs.  Galbraith  has  issued  her  decree, 
and  with  the  gentle  temper  that  has  grown  habitual  to  her  (jf 
late  years,  the  sacrifice  of  self  she  has  learned  to  make,  j^he 
rises  with  a  low  sigh,  and  goes  forth  into  that  brilliant  May- 
time  world,  of  which  she  is  one  of  the  acknowledged  queens. 

It  ha!?  taken  three  volumes  to  record  half  a  dozen  months 
of  her  life—  the  past  half  a  dozen  years  may  be  rendered  in 
as  many  pages. 

That  eventful  Christmas,  six  years  ago,  to  the  great  sur- 
prise of  Mrs.  Gkilbraith,  was  neither  spent  at  ''Tlie  Firs"  nor 
at  Montalien  Priory,  nor  did  Paulina  become  the  wife  of 
Lord  Montalien.  Miss  Lisle,  by  her  own  desire,  had  been 
taken  to  France  instead,  and  spent  the  winter  with  one  of  her 
laic  school  friends. 

Lord  Montalien  and  her  guardian  had  (luarreled,  not 
loudiy  nor  violently,  but  the  quarrel  was  none  the  less  dt^^p 
and  deadly. 

*'You  can  do  your  worst,  my  lord,'"' Sir  Vane  had  said,  not 
"without  dignity.  "I  have  changed  my  mind — my  ward  shall 
not  be  forced  to  marry  you." 

And  Lord  Montalien  had  gone  away  baffled,  black  with 
supi)ressed  fury  and  rage. 

"Ti  the  day  ever  comes,  Sir  Vane  Charteris,"  ho  had  said, 
"when  I  can  repay  you,  trust  me  not  to  forg'^t  this  debt." 

And  then  he  had  gone  abroad,  and  had  not  once  returned 
to  Fn gland  since. 

Paulina's  secret  was  kept.  Neither  Mrs.  Galbraith  nor 
Lord  Montalien  dreamed  of  it. 

ITer  Grace  the  Duchess  of  Clanronald,  a  handsome, 
haughty  dowager  of  seventy-five,  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to 
the  girl's  fa'r  face,  and  presented  her;  and  the  Morning 
Po.<!l  recorded  Miss  Lisle's  diamonds  and  general  splendor 
of  nppearanee,  together  with  her  most  remarkable  beauty. 
And  then  followed  her  first  brilliant  Lo]1»lon  season;  and 
tliose  few  who  had  known  her  tlie  preceding  year  saw  and 
wondered  a  little  at  the  growing  change  in  her. 

At  the  close  of  tjie  fourth  London  season,  the  Duchess  of 


CO 


:i 


A  Belle  of  Five  Season*. 


231 


^j 


Olanronald  carrird  !^^is.s  Lisle  nway  to  hor  dijitnut  TTitrhlMiid 
castle,  to  speiul  flic  auluiiiii  and  winter.  She  liked  l*uuliiui, 
•wit^a  a  likinjiT  that  ^^rew  stroiijjor  with  each  year.  At  (M;ni- 
roiiald  Castle  Miss  Lisle  eiieountered,  th:it  iUitUMin,  her 
grace's  only  son,  the  ^Inrfiuis  of  l[(^jilherl:intl.  lie  hnd  l.een 
absent  in  the  East  for  the  i)ast  seven  years,  an<l  had  eointi 
home  on  a  Hyinjr  visit  to  his  niotiier  before  starting-  f(»r 
E(iuinoclial  Africa.  He  cann;  home,  a  .urave,  vveather-beiiicii 
man  of  seven-and-forty,  with  every  intention  of  leaving 
attain  in  a  week,  and  he  nw^t  Paulina  Lisle,  and  his  fate  wa^ 
fixed.  Jfe  fell  in  love"  with  her,  as  scores  of  otluT  men  had 
done  before  him,  and  Equinoctinl  Africa  and  gorilla  hunting 
were  forgotten.  In  three  days  his  infatuation  was  patent  to 
the  whole  house. 

Two  days  after  the  marquis  proposed,  and  was  rejected ! 

lie  was  a  man.  of  few  words.  He  took  his  rejection  as 
quietly  as  he  took  most  things. 

"And  this  is  final?"  he  asked,  slowly.  "There  is  no  hope. 
Miss  Lisle  r 

"There  is  none,"  she  answered.  "I  esteem  you,  I  respect 
you  highly,  my  lord,  but  I  will  never  marry — nev(>r!" 

There  was  that  in  her  face  that  told  him  she  meant  it.' 
There  was  infinite  pain  in  it,  too.  It  gave  her  no  pleasure, 
yielded  her  no  triumph — these  rejections.  She  f(dt  like  a 
cheat,  like  an  impostor;  she  felt  shame — -humiliation  iniutter- 
able.  She  a  wedded  wife,  and  men  constantly  asking  her  to 
marry  them  !  It  was  part  of  her  punishment,  richly  deserved 
but  very  bitter. 

,  She  went  up  to  her  room  after  he  left  her,  slowly,  wearily, 
sick  at  heart.  A  packet  of  American  papers,  that  shonhl 
have  reached  her  two  months  before,  lay  on  the  table.  She 
opened  the  jiackot  with  eagerness — there  was  mostly  news 
of  her  father  there — very  often  mention  of  another  name, 
quite  as  eagerly  looked  for.  The  i)a{)ers  were  three  months 
old,  they  gave  the  details  of  a  long  and  terrible  battle,  the 
lists  of  killed,  wounded,  and  missing.  And  almost  h'ading 
the  list  01  killed  she  read'  the  name  of  Lieutenant  Guy  Earls- 
couri. 

Yes,  there  it  was.  Guy  Earlscourt — killed!  The  room 
arwam  round  her,  a  hot  mist  came  between  her  eyes  aud  the 
paper.  Killed!  His  image  rose  before  her  as  she  had  seo.n 
him  first  eight  years  before — "beautiful  with  man's  best 
beauty,"  when  she  had  danced  with  him' undc*  the  waving 
trees  of  Montalicn  during  that  bright  June  day.  As  she  had 
seen  him  with  the  bunshine  on  his  dark  face,  as  he  rode  up 
to  her  carriage  to  say  good-by  on  the  day  she  left  Speck- 
haven  for  scJiooL    As  she  had  seen  him  last  in  ^ke  libraiy  of 


»>. 


'-^i 


235 


A  Belle  of  Five  Seasons. 


Sir  Vane  Cliartoris'  lunisc,  wlicn  he  lir.d  refused  tlie  onej 
f-he  proffered,  and  liad  pone  fortli  penniless  to  his  oxile. 
Killed!  And  then  the  mist  eleared  away,  and  she  foreed  her- 
self to  read.  Tlu^re  was  a  brief  i)arafrrai)h  ertneernin/;?  him — 
very  brief  and  elociurnt.  He  was  an  Knj?lishman,  and  he 
liad  fouirht  like  a  lion  diirinp  the  whole  day.  And  it  had 
beerx  newly  discovered  he  was  the  anonymous  author  of  those 
two  books  wliieh  had  created  sueli  a  sensation  in  the  literary 
world,  "Paul  Kutherford's  Wife"  and  "CJold  and  Glitter." 

The  paper  dropped  from  her  hands,  she  sank  down  on  her 
knees  and  buried  her  pale  face  in  them.  Lonp:  before  she 
arose  they  were  wet  with  her  tears — tears  that  eame  fast  and 
thick  from  a  stricken  \u  art.  She  had  loved  him,  and  he  was 
dead. 

Miss  Lisle  left  the  Highland  Castle  abruptly  enough  next 
day — no  doubt  because  she  had  rejected  TTeatherland,  every 
one  said.  She  looked  so  pale,  so  cold,  so  wretched,  that  the 
duchess  had  not  the  heart  to  be  too  severe  upon  her — the 
young'  woman  must  be  mad,  simply  that. 

She  went  home — home  to  Speckhaven — to  Duke,  and 
passed  the  winter  as  though  she  were  once  more  "Polly 
Mason,"  and  all  her  wealth  and  grandeur  but  a  dream.  She 
was  in  trouble — those  faithful  friends  saw  that,  and  aske<l  no 
questions,  only  too  hanpy  to  have  hr'r  vvith  them  once  more. 
When  April  came  Sir  Vane  came  with  it,  and  took  her  back, 
and  the  world  saw  no  change  in  her.  And  for  the  fir-^t  time 
for  many  years  the  Marquis  of  TTeatherland  appeared  in  so- 
ciety— his  old  madness  strong  upon  liim  still.  Tie  had  no 
hope — but  to  look  U])on  her  fac(> — to  hear  her  voice,  were 
temptations  too  great  for  him.  They  met  once  moic.  and 
how  it  came  about  need  not  be  told.  ITe  proposed  agnin.  and 
this  time  was  accei>ted. 

She  was  proud,  slie  was  ambitious — she  liked  and  esteemed 
him  highly.      .     r 

"T  will  be  your  wife,"  sh(^  said,  sim]>ly.  "Your  faithful 
wife  I  know,  your  loving  wife  T  hope — in  time." 

TTe  asked  no  more.  Tfe  lifted  tl.e  fair,  small  hand  to  his 
lips  gratefully,  gladly,  and  she  was  betrttthed  to  the  ^Fanpiis 
of  PTeatherland. 

Mrs.  Galbraith  and  her  two  young  ladies  came  back  from 
the  Park  to  dine  and  dress  for  a  reception. 

They  had  met  Lord  lleatherland,  and  shaken  hands  with 
him,  and  he  was  trt  be  at  the  reception  also.  The  marriage 
was  to  take  place  in  thr(^e  weeks;  he  had  hurried  rverything 
on  and  she  had  <'onsented.     Why  should  they  wait? 

And  she  was  to  be  a  duchess.  The  title  poor  Duke  had 
given  her  long  ago  in  jest,  wsi  one  day  to  bo  hers  in  reality. 


passe 

blu^li 

dea( 

her 

KarJ 


shiid 

man 

and 

span 

looki 

stani 
svvai^ 
in  h( 

iiig, 
intcil 

to  hi 
far-(i 

HI 

sakej 


Held  Asunde-. 


2^3 


The  pres''iit  duke  lufd  Ix  < n  ludritldcii  for  ycixn^,  an  (>U|»  old 
iiinn — she  wouUl  not  long  l»<*  >^!;l^(•l»ion^^■^^^  of   lloatlu-i  Ijind. 

'MI(»w  stranj^e  it  all  sccnis,"  she  thou^lit,  with  a  lian-sinile, 
l(M'kinK  J»t  hor  inia|?e  in  the  glass.  "1,  little  I*oll.v  Mas(»n, 
to  1)0  in  three  weeks'  time  Marehioness  of  Heatherland.  It 
18  almost  like  a  fairy  tale !" 

She  was  looking  beautiful  to-night,  her  best,  in  a  dress  of 
blue  satin  and  point  laee  overskirt,  diamonds  in  her  goVl-. 
brown  hair,  and  running  like  a  river  of  light  about  the  graee- 
ful  throat.  She  was  looking  beautiful,  and  an  oetogenarian 
minister,  sprightly  as  a  schoolboy,  eame  up  to  shake  hands, 
and  congratulate  her. 

"I  1  ve  been  telling  Heatherland  what  an  unspenkably  for- 
tuna  J  fellow  he  is!  I  think  he  is  as  fully  "^  ble  of  it, 
though,  as  I  am.  If  it  were  not  for  my  eighty  ,,  ears  and  one 
wife  already.  Miss  Lisle,  Heatherland  should  not  have  had  it 
all  his  own  way." 

The  Marquis  of  Heatherland  was  by  her  side.  She  blushed 
and  laughed  with  her  own  frank  grace. 

"T  can  imagine  no  age  at  which  your  excellency  would  not 
bo  a  dangerous  rival,"  she  said.  The  words  had  but  just 
pas^ifd  her  lips,  and  she  was  turning  away,  with  the  smile  anii 
blu-ili  still  lingering,  when  she  stoi)p<'d  suddenly.  Had  the 
dead  arisen?  There,  staiuling  a  few  yards  away,  gazing  at 
her  with  grave  thoughtfulness,  she  saw,  face  to  face — («uy 
Karlscourt ! 


CHArTKU  TTT. 

H  K  L  1>     A  s  r  N  ii«:  H  . 

Guy  Karlscourt!  No  myth,  no  illu>;ion  of  the  senses,  no 
shiidow  from  the  dead,  hut  tlie  living,  breathing,  vigontus 
man!  Sonunvhat  tliinnrr,  somewhat  browner,  soinewliat  W(»rn 
and  grave,  as  if  he  had  thought  and  suflF«  nul  much  in  the 
span  of  the  i)ast  six  years,  but  as  surely  as  she  stood  there 
hooking  at  him — Ouy  Karlscourt! 

She  did  not  cry  out,  she  did  not  faint,  though,  for  an  in- 
stant, the  rooms,  .the  liglits,  the  fares,  the  flitting  forms, 
swam  giddily,  and  there  was  the  surging  roar  of  many  waters 
in  her  ears.  She  stood  there  stock  still,  her  great  eyes  dilat- 
ing, every  drop  of  blood  leaving  her  face.  Dimly,  after  an 
interval — of  five  seconds,  in  reality— of  five  hours  it  seemed 
^,^  n(.,.__the  voice  of  Lord  Heatherland,  sounding  faint  and 
far-oft.  came  to  her  ear: 

"Paulina,  you  ar«  ill — you  are  going  to  faint!  ^  For  pity's 
sake,  sit  down  a  nwmf/nt  wliile  I  go  for  a  gla«»  c  '■  water  I** 


I- 


JM 


Held  Asunder. 


She  caught  at  tlio  hack  of  a  chair  he  plftcod  toi  her,  and 
Baw  him  hurriedly  disi^upcar. 

Tiu'ii,  by  a  nullity  eiiort,  she  colUictod  her  dazed  senses, 
and  luriK.'d,  still  dizzily,  to  leave  the  room. 

On  the  very  instant  of  her  recop^nition  Guy  Karlscourt  had 
turned  slowly  away  and  disappeared  in  an  inner  apartment. 

She  made  her  way — how,  she  never  afterward  knew,  sick 
and  dizzy  as  bhe  felt — out  of  the  crowded  rooms  throuj^h  an 
open  window,  and  on  to  the  piazza.  There  she  sank  down, 
half-eronchin^,  half-sitting,  in  her  gay  ball  dress,  while  the 
wind  oi  the  cold  May  night  blew  upon  her  uncovered  head 
an<l  death-white  face. 

Jler  cold  hands  clasped  themselves  over  her  pale  face,  her 
brain  ceased  to  think,  a  sort  of  stupor,  partly  of  cold,  was 
creeping  upon  her,  she  crouched  there  in  her  laces  and  dia- 
monds, as  miserable  a  woman  as  the  great  city  heUh  Oh, 
Heaven  !  to  be  able  to  retrieve  the  past — to  recall  the  work  of 
the  long-gone  Christmas  bve.  How  long  she  had  been  there 
she  never  knew,  probably  not  more  than  twenty  minutes — an 
eternity  of  suifering  it  seemed  to  her. 

A  hand  was  laid  on  her  shoulder — a  voice  sounded  in  her 
dulled  ears. 

"Paulina!  Good  Heaven!  what,  are  you  here?  Do  you 
know  you  will  get  your  death  ?" 

She  looked  up — to  his  dying  day  he  never  forgot  the  dumb, 
infinite  misery  of  that  first  glance.  It  was  the  Marquis  of 
neatherland's  anxious  face  that  bent  above  her. 

"What  is  it.  Paulina?"  he,  cried;  "are  you  mad  to  expose 
yourself  like  this  in  the  cold  night  air?" 

She  rose  up  slowly,  shrinking  from  his  touch,  ani  feeling 
for  the  first  time,  with%  shiver,  how  cold  it  really  was. 

"T  am  not  mad,"  she  said,  in  a  slow,  dull  voice,  strangely 
unlike  the  soft,  musical  tones  that  had  been  one  of  her  chief 
charms,  "only  miserable — the  most  miserable  creature  on 
earth,  1  think  My  lord,  let  me  tell  you  now,  while  I  have 
courage — tlia.t  I  retract  my  promise — that  I  can  never  be 
your  wife." 

The  words  dropped  spasmodically  from  her  lips,  with  inter- 
vals between.  She  did  not  look  at  hini,  her  eyes  staring 
straight  before  her  into  the  blue  briii^ht  night.  He  listened-- 
not  uiwlerstanding,  bewildered,  anxious,  incredulous. 

"Take  back  your  promise — not  be  my  wife!"  he  repeated. 
"What  is  the  matter,  Paulina?  Are  you  taking  leave  of  your 
senses  ?" 

"It  sounds  like  it,  I  dare  say,"  she  answered,  with  a  heavy. 
heartsick  sigh;  "but  no,  my  senses,  such  as  they  are,  or  ever 
were,  remain.    Oh,  my  lord,  how  caa  I  nuke  jou  uaderstand 


Held  Asunder. 


215 


—what  a  1)080,   r^    :  wroto^  ^  TiiUHt  n(rm  to  yni      I     -  .innt— 
do  you  hear  ine,  '..>rtl  Ih'alhcrlaiid  ^     I  caiiiiot  !•<■  .v«.i;r  wilrf" 

"I  hear  you,  Paulina,"  ho  said.  ^Tfiwiu^'  altiiost  as  white  ns 
licr.soli*,  "but  1  cannot  understand.  Will  you  he  too^J  <ii(tUKh 
to  oxTjl.'tin  ?" 

He  wan  a  nnni  of  stronjjf  self-conjinaiid,  of  p.twerrul  will. 
Ho  folded  his  arms  over  his  chest  an<i  wail(Ml  to  hear  what 
slie  had  to  nay,  only  the  i;ri\y  j)all(»r  of  his  face  hetokenin^  in 
any  way  what  he  felt. 

"]  cannot.  'J'liink  1  liave  clijin<:('d  my  mind,  tliink  I  am  a 
heartless  co<|Uette,  thiidv  anything  you  will,  oidy  release  me, 
JvOt  the  world  think  it  is  you  who  cast  nic^  off — I  deserve  it — - 
and — aiul  what  does  it  matter^  In  a  day  or  two  1  shall  leave 
Knj^land,  and  forever." 

Her  voice  broke  in  with  a  hollow  sob — if  she  could  only 
die,  slu5  thought,  and  end  it  all. 

"At  least  I  have  not  deserved  this,  J*aulimi,"  the  grave,  snd 
voice  of  the  niarcjuis  broke  in,  "If  you  claim  your  promise — • 
your  promise  is  yours.  But  oh,  Paulina!  my  bride — my  wife 
— it  is  hard — it  is  oTuel — it  is  bitter  as  death." 

It  was  the  first,  the  last,  the  only  time  she  over  saw  him  so 
moved.  She  fell  down  on  her  knees  before  him  and  held  up 
her  clasped  hands. 

"J'OrKive  me!  forgive  me!"  she  cried;  "you  shall  know 
all,  cost  what  it  may — the  wretch,  the  impostor  I  am.  You 
thou^jfht  you  knew  my  whole  history — that  it  was  only  my 
pride  or  my  indifference  that  caused  me  to  refuse  so  many 
offers  before  I  accej)te(l  you,  and  you  honored  me  for  it.  Ah, 
my  God!  how  utterly  unworthy  I  am  of  your  respect — of  any 
good  man's — Paulina  Lisle  was,  and  is.  Six  years  ago,  my 
lord,  I  was  pledged  by  the  strongest  ties  to  a  man  who 
(luitted  England — forever  as  T  thought.  You  n'mend)cr  the 
day  1  left  Clanronald  so  hastily — the  day  aft(T  that  on  which 
you  tirst  proposed^  On  that  day  1  read  the  account  of  this 
man's  death  in  a  foreign  paper.  T  don't  krow  that  I  loved 
him — I  can't  tell — at  least  the  news  of  his  t.eath  had  power 
to  move  rie  as  nothing  else  had  power  to  do.  Then  yf)u  know 
what  followed.  Next  season  we  met  again,  and  again  you 
renewed  your  offer,  and — I  accepted.  I  did  not  love  you,  my 
lord — but  I  thought  myself  free — and  I  knew  it  would  be 
easy  to  love  one  so  good,  so  kind,  in  tiiic.  \'ou  (h^servciJ 
better  than  that,  and  my  j)rido  and  ambition  have  received 
iboir  rightful  punit-hment.  ^fy  lord-r-oh,  how  shall  T  tell 
vou? — this  very  nipht  I  have  discovered  that  the  man  [  speak 
of — whctrn  I  thought  dead — to  wliom  ties  1  could  not  break  if 
1  would,  bind  me — is  alive  and  in  London!" 

The  broken  voice  6topi>ed — the  pale,  tortured  face  droi>ped 


2)6 


Held  Asunder. 


into  her  hands.  SIjo  still  knelt  Wforc  liim— droopinp- -in  tt 
etran^c,  distorted  attitude  of  pain,  lie*  had  listened  without- 
a  word,  without  a  iiioveiii  •nt,  the  dull  palk^r  ^till  hlaiiehiiig 
his  fae<.» — ^his  arms  still  f(  Idcd.  WIk'M  she  ceased,  all  that 
was  i^reat,  that  was  noblo  in  the  man's  nature  wa.s  stirred. 
Slie  had  doiu^  him  a  wrong,  ju'rliaps,  hut  she  was  the  vvoinau 
he  loved,  ami  she  knell,  Iwioro  him  iu  he  r  great  trouble,  lie 
Stooped  and  tried   to   rais«'   her  up. 

"Not  here,  Paulina!  not  here,"  he  said;  "kneel  only  to 
your  Maker." 

"Yes,  here,  here!"  she  eried,  wildly;  "hero  on  my  knees  at 
your  feet!  Oh,  my  lord,  you  cannot  forgive  me — but  you 
iniu,ht  pity  me  if  you  knew  what  I  suflFcr." 

"1  do  pity  you,"  he  answered,  gravely,  "from  my  soul. 
Rise,  iMiss  Lisk?—  1  command  it!" 

She  rose  at  once. 

"And  this  is  all?' 
'  "'J1<is  is  all." 

"J^'t  me  try  to  understand  it,  if  T  oan.  You  arc  bound  by 
promise  to  marry  this  man  of  whom  you  speak — you  mean  to 
marry  himT' 

"My  lord,  I  will  marry  no  one.  I  have  told  you  I  mean  to 
leave  England  and  him  forever  in  a  day  or  two.  Of  my  own 
free  will  I  would  never  look  upon  his  face  again." 

"Then  you  do  not  care  for  him,  this  man  to  whom  you 
stand  pledged?"  with  a  thrill  of  new  hoiX5  in  his  tone. 

Her  face  dropped — she  turned  it  far  away  from  him  in  the 
starlight. 

"Paulina,  you  hear  mo.  Do  you  or  do  you  not  care  for 
iliis  man?" 

"I— I  am  afraid  I  do." 

He  paused  at  her  answer.  The  hope  that  had  arisen 
crushed  out  in  his  faithful  heart  forever. 

"You  care  for  him,"  he  said,  after  that  pause;  "and  you 
tell  me  in  the  same  breath  that  you  an-  going  to  tiy  trom  him, 
that  you  will  never  be  his  wife.  Miss  Lisle,  you  have  told 
me  part  of  your  secret,  but  not  all.  Nay,"  as  she  was  about 
to  speak,  "tell  me  no  more — I  do  not  ask  it;  I  free  you  ut- 
terly and  entirely  from  this  moment.  The  woman  whose 
heart  is  another  man's  is  sacred  from  me.  I  would  no  more 
ask  you,  knowing  this,  to  marry  me.  than  T  would  if  you 
were  already  a  wife.  And  I  will  try  to  be  just,  and  forgive 
you,  if  I  can.  You  have  done  wrong,  by  your  own  showing, 
in  not  telling  me  this  at  first,  but  you  could-not  ft»rese(>  what 
has  ha])i)ened.  The  secret  you  have  confided  to  me  shall  be 
kept  inviolable — the  world  shall  be  told  you  have  rejected  me, 
in  justice  to    oyself.  since  you  found  you  c»uld  not  love  mft 


•4. 


Held  Asunder 


3^7 


No  more  need  be  Baid,  I  think,  ami  you  Imvo  beer  ncrc  for 
too  loiiK  alrendy.  Take  my  ami,  Aliss  iii^l^•,  and  U-l  mo  cou« 
duct  you  back  to  fho  house" 

Tho  (liKiiity  of  the  niau  rendered  his  rciiucst  ii(»it  to  U'  dirt- 
putcd.  In  all  her  life  nho  luid  never  admind  liiyi;  iirvcr  re- 
H|)('('ii'«l  him  as  she  did  at  this  instant.  Now  ^ncniU"',  how 
nolilc  every  one  woh — tlie  niiirquin  (inv-  wUih'  slic  — <di, 
words  are  weak  to  tell  how  utli'tly  dejrrided  slie  was  in  her 
own  si^fiit — ^liow  bitterly  she  despised  her.-tlf.  All  Iht  pri«lo 
was  eru-'hed  to  the  very  earth.  She  tof»k  his  arm,  and  in  dead 
silence  they  walked  back  to  the  crowded  moiiis.  Wiiaf  a 
mockery  it  all  seemed  1  thi;  music,  tlu;  smiling  laces,  the  hril- 
liant  dressea,  the  liglits,  the  roses,  and  those  tortured  human 
liearts!  They  walked  through  the  midst  of  their  frien<ls,  and 
iio  (Mie  noticed  much  chauK^  in  either.  Miss  Lisle  htoked 
v<>ry  pale — paler  than  usual,  but  she  never  had  much  color, 
and  her  five  seasons'  experience  had  taught  her  not  to  wear 
her  heart  on  her  sleeve.  The  manjuis  led  her  to  a  seat,  stood 
Bilent  for  u  moment,  looking-  down  upon  her,  then  held  out 
bis  hand. 

'M*aulina!''  it  was  the  la-t  time  iiiat  name  ever  pa^ed  hia 
lips,  "will  you  say  goo(l-by  r 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  face — almost  for  the  first  time 
Binco  he  had  found  liai"  on  the  piazza,  J  low  pale  he  was — 
pale  to  the  lips. 


(» 


Vou 


are  going  away 


>" 


"1  shall  start  for  Africa  to-morrow.  I  am  such  an  old  trav- 
el(^r  that  1  can  p'ack  up  for  tho  other  end  of  the  world  at  five 
minutes'  noti<'e.  And.  ;is  rvery  one  who  goes  to  Central  Af- 
rica does  not  invariably  return,  1  should  like  you  to  say  good' 
by  and  good  spiH'd,  before  we  part." 

They  soumh'd  almost  like  the  last  words  Guy  had  spoken 
to  h(r  when  she  had  seen  him  last. 

She  laid  lu-r  hand  in  that  of  Lord  lleatherland,  but  f^he  did 
not  speak—  she  could  ncit. 

"CJood-by,"  he  repeated. 

Tier  uplifted  eyes,  full  of  speechless  pain,  answered  him. 
One  close,  warm  pressure  of  her  cold  hand,  and  then  the  nuui 
she  had  pledged  herself  to  marry  had  passed  forever  out  of 
her  life.  , 

It  slio  could  only  go  home — a  wild  desire  o  fly  away  from 
this  house  and  those  peoi)le,  ,iind  hide  herself  forever,  camo 
iipoi!  her.  \Vhere  was  .NIrs.  Galbraith,  where  ^^auh  or  Sir 
Vaner  She  hM.ked  around,  antl  f(M*  the  second  time  waa 
frozen  by  tiie  sight  of  (Juy  Earlscourt. 

lie  was  approaching  her,  her  old  friend  Mrs.  Atcherly  on 
his  arm*  Mx0*  Atcherly  chatting  gayly  and  volubly  m  thej 


ns 


Held  Asunder. 


came  up.    Low  as  the  words  were  spoken,  Paulina's  strainjei 
ear  heard  them : 

"To  be  married  in  three  weeks'  time,  you  know,  to  the 
Marquis  of  Ileailrjrland — by  far  the  most  brilliant  match  of 
the  season.  She  is  good  enough  and  beautiful  enough  to 
marry  a  prinee,  I  think.  And  do  you  know,  C4uy,"  laugh- 
ingly, "I  used  to  fancy — to  hope,  only  you  were  such  a  shock- 
ing wild  boy,  that  you  and  sihe — you  understand?  But 
Heatiierland  will  make  her  a  much  better  husband  than  you 
ever  would,  or  ever  will  make  any  one,  Master  Guy." 

"Mrs.  Atcherly,  don't  be  vituperative.  I've  turned  over  a 
new  leaf — several  new  leaves,  and  whoever  the  lady  is  who 
has  the  honor  and  bliss  of  becoming  Mrs.  Earlscourt,  she  will 
be  blessed  beyond  her  sex.  For  Miss  Lisle  I  have  had  always 
the  profoundest  and  most  hopeless  admiration." 

She  heard  ihe  carelessly  spoken  words,  and  her  heart  hard- 
ened and  revolted  against  him.  IIow  dared  he  sx)eak  of  her 
in  .that  light  and  flippant  tone,  when  his  coming  here  had 
broken  her  heart,  blighted  her  life?  Her  eyes  brightened,  a 
faint  tinge  of  color  came  back  into  her  face.  She  looked  at 
him  straight — a  hard,  cold,  steady  glance. 

"Paulina,  my  child,"  cried  the  gay  voice  of  Mrs.  Atcherly, 
"here  is  a  surprise  for  you,  a  resurrection  from  the  dead — the 
prodigal  returned — a  prodigal  no  longer,  Guy,  I  don't  think 
there  is  any  need  of  an  introduction  between  you  and  Pau- 
lina." 

"Not  the  least,  I  hope,  Mrs^  Atcherly,"  Guy  answered,  bow- 
ing low. 

She  had  not  offered  him  her  hand;  her  face  looked  cold, 
hard  as  stone;  no  smile  of  recognition  passed  over  it.  The 
coldest,  slightest,  haughtiest  bend  of  the  head  '\cknowledged 
him.  She  spoke,  and  her  voice  sounded  as  hiird  and  icy  as 
her  look. 

"It  is  a  surprise.  Months  ago  I  read  of  Mr.  Earlscourt's 
death  in  an  American  paper.  But,  perhaps,  it  was  another 
Guy  Earlscourt." 

"No,  I  fancy  not,"  Guy  said,  coolly;  "I  was  the  man  whose 
oJ)ituaiy*  you  read.  It  was  rather  a  close  thing,  but  good 
nursing  br(»ught  nie  safely  through  it,  as  yoy  see." 

He  was  not  one  whit  dashed  by  her  freezing  hauteur — her 
repellent  toiu'.  He  stood  theite  before  her  the  most  coolly 
self-possessed  man  in  the  room :  heedless  whether  the  Marquii: 
of  Ileatherland'S  aiHanced  bride  smiled  or  frowned.  She  saw 
it  with  silctit,  suppressed  anger,  um'ust  as  it  was  strong. 
^    •*When  did  you  arrive  ?"  she  asked. 

Hhify  iksB  •ftermxio;  and  <m  the  ground  oC  M  ftJgmWiiy 


Li! 


ainej 

o  the 
k'h  of 
t^b  to 
augh- 
sliock- 
But 
111  you 

)vcr  a 
who 
ic  will 
always 

t  hard- 
of  her 
re  had 
ened,  a 
jked  at 

tcherly, 
ad — the 
't  think 
id  Pau- 

id,  bow- 

3d  cold, 
t.  The 
wledged 
I  icy  as 

scoart's 
auothei 

n  whose 
lit  good 

ur — her 
t  coolly 
Marquis 
She  saw 

iflodship 


IS.K 


2)9 


to  see 


Held  Asunder. 

ventured  to  nitriide  here  to-night.      Besido,  I  w 
you  I'* 

**To  see  me?"  with. a  fine  lady's  stare  of  insolent  v.'onder; 
**and  what  can  Mr.  (Juy  Karlscourt,  after  his  bix  yuar?^'  exile, 
possibly  have  to  say  to  nie  i" 

A  sniilo  curled  his  mustaehed  lii)S — a  smile  of  lunusenient 
at  her  look  and  tone. 

•'Nothing  whatever  concerning  myself — with  .'11  bis  pre- 
sumption he  does  not  presume  so  far  as  that.  L  canu'  as  the 
messenger  of  another  person,  in  whom  I  think  even  the  fu- 
ture Lady  Heatherland  may  be  interested." 

Her  fingers  tore  in  half  her  costly  lace  handkerchief.  This 
6torn>  of  contending  feelings  within  her  was  growing  more 
than  she  could  bear. 

"I  know  of  no  acquaintance  of  ^ours,  Mr.  Earlscourt,  in 
whom  I  take  the  slightest  interest.  I  have  no  idea  what  you 
rjan  n>'ean !" 

"No,"  he  said;  and  again  the  amused  smile  that  half-mad- 
dened her  played  around  his  mouth;  "not  even  Colonel  Kob- 
ert  Hawksley." 

She  barely  repressed  a  cry. 

"My  father!"  she  exclaimed;  "what  of  him?" 

"Ah!  I  thought  you  would  be  interested,"  still  smiling. 
"Colonel  Hawksley  is  here,  Miss  Lisle,  and  I  am  his  messen- 
ger." 

Paulina  caught  her  breath;  she  arose  and  looked  at  Guy, 
flushed,  eager. 

"Here!"  she  cried,  "here!  my  father!  at  last!  Oh,  Mr. 
Earlscourt,  where  is  he — take  me  to  him?  At  once!  at 
once !" 

"Ilestrain  yourself.  Miss  Lisle — at  once  would  be  impossi- 
ble. 7\nd  his  presence  here  must  for  a  tinu;  be  a,  dead  secret. 
Above  all.  Sir  Vane  Charteris  and  his  family  are  to  be  kept 
in  total  ignorance.  lie  bade  me  give  you  tliis — it  explains 
everything,  and  tells  you  where  to  find  him.  Conceal  it 
quickly — here  is  Mrs.  Galbraith." 

Sh(i  thrust  the  letter  he  gave  her  into  the  folds  of  her 
dress,  just  in  time  to  escape  Mrs.  Galbraith's  keen,  black 
eyes.  As  on  that  other  night,  >he  canii^  noiselessly  upon 
them — lliis  time  with  a  bland  smile  on  her  face. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Earlscourt!  so  happy  to  welcome  you  back. 
Such  a  surprise,  Paulina,  l(»ve,  is  it  not?  and  a  celebrated 
author  and  hero  and  everything.  Everybody  is  talking  of 
you  and  your  books,  1  assure  you." 

"Everybody  does  me  too  much  honor,  Mrs.  Galbraith.  Miss 
Lisle,  adieu." 

He  bowed  with  his  old,  negligent,  courtly  grace— his  old. 


-F,< 


740 


Held  Asunder. 


careless  smile,  and  snunUrofl  away.  Paulina  looked,  with  tLv' 
incxplicMble  expression,  after  the  tall,  graceful  form,  and  saw 
the  (lauMliter  of  the  house,  Lady  Kdith  Clive,  flutter  smil* 
inprly  up  to  him,  with  both  han\ls  outstretcluHl  in  ^hul  wel- 
Con;o.     tShc  turned  abn!i>tly  away,  and  looked  no  more. 

"Mrs.  Galbraith,"  she  said.  "I  want  to  go  home." 

"Certainly,    Pau'' ui,    love — but    where    is    Lord    Heather 
land?" 

"(iono  lonjJT  ago.  Order  the  carriage  at  once;  I  am  tired 
,and  sick  to  deatli  of  it  all." 

Mrs.  Galbraith  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  What  was 
the  matter?  Where  and  why  had  the  Marquis  of  Heather- 
land  gone,  and  what  meant  all  this  unusual,  angry  impa- 
tience ? 

Sir  Vane  came  up  at  the  moment,  his  florid  face  a  shade  or 
two  less  florid  than  usual,  and  his  small,  black  eyes  looking 
strangely  startled. 

"Paulina!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  half  whisper,  "do  you  know 
who  has  come?" 
...  "Yes,  I  know." 

"But,  good  Heaven,  Paulina,  what  is  to  be  done?  You 
showed  me  the  paper  that  spoke  of  him  as  dead,  and  now 
here  he  is  back  again.  And^there  is  Lord  Heatherland,  and 
the  settlements  prepared,  and  the  wedding  day  named.  Pau- 
lina, what  is  to  be  done?" 

"Go  home,  the  flrst  thing,"  with  a  hysterical  laugh.  "Let 
me  alone.  Sir  Vane  (Miarteris;  I  am  not  fit  to  talk  to  you  or 
any  one  to-night." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  noticed,  for  the  first  time,  the 
ghastly  pallor  of  her  face,  the  dusky  fire  in  her  eyes.  He 
gave  her  his  arm,  without  another  word,  and  le<l  her  to  the 
carriage.  On  the  way  home  not  a  word  was  spoken.  Mrs. 
Galbraith  sat  in  silent  surprise,  but  asking  no  questions. 
Maud  In.v  back  half  aslec]) — Sir  Vane  kept  inwardly  repeat- 
ing: "What  the  deuce  will  she  do?"  And  Paulina,  in  a 
corner  of  the  carriage,  sat  white  and  cold,  with  only  a  dull, 
sickening  sense  of  misery  in  her  heart.  Her  father  had 
come — was  here!  At  any  other  time  those  tidings  would 
have  driven  her  half  wild  with  delight,  but  even  this  news 
had  little  power  to  move  Ikm*  n(.w. 

They  reached  honie.  She  toihnl  wearily  up  the  stairs  to 
her  own  luxurious  apartm^Mits.  ITer  Pn^nch  maid.  Knglish 
Jane's  successor,  sat  waiting  for  her  young  mistress,  half 
asleep  in  a  chair.     Paulina  dismissed  her  at  once. 

"You  may  vo  to  bed,  Odille  -1  shall  not  want  you  this 
morning.' 

The  girl  departed,  yawning.     The  mom^it  she  was  gone 


tr 

Si 
h( 
cl 


li 
tl 

63 


Ill 


Held  Asunder. 


S41 


Paulina  locked  the  doors,  drew  a  chair  close  to  tjie  waxlif^hts, 
and  took  the  letter  (hiy  Karlscourt  had  ^iven  Ivr  from  tlio 
corsape  of  her  dress.  She  knew  tiiat  hold,  manly  liand  well; 
she  tore  it  impetuously  oi)en  and  read  its  brief  eont<'nts: 

»  .  Chariiie:   Crnss   Hotr'.. 

.  Tuesday,  May  11th.  IStU). 

.  (My  Paulina: — You  see   I  have  answered  yi>ur  prayer  at  last 

— I   am   here — here    to   redres.s   the   wronKs   of   the   living  or   to 

avenge  the  dead — here,  after  two-and-twcnty  yt\irs,  to  rwhiim 

your  mother— my  wife. 

My  young  friend,  Guy  Earlscourt.  has  persuaded  mo,  con- 
vinced mo  that  this  way  ties  my  duty.  He  has  urged  me  also 
to  tell  you  all,  and  claim  your  woman's  wit  and  aid  in  my  uti- 
dertaking.  The  hour  has  come  when  it  (s  time  for  you  to 
learn  who  your  mother  really  is — that  you  have  been  kcpL  in 
Ignorance  bo  long  may  have  been  a  fatal  mistake.  My  daugJi- 
ter.  have  you  never  suspected?  You  have  met  her.  known  h-.-r. 
Think!  Shall  I  tell  yoii  her  name  at  once?  Paulina,  she  who'n 
you  knew  as  Lady  Charteris  was  ruivia  I.,yndiih.  t1v.'-:in  1- 
twenty  years  ago,  Robert  Lisle's  wife,  and  your  iiiot)ier. 

• 

The  letter  dro])i)ed  from  Paulina's  hand,  witli  a  low, 
startled  cry.  A  thousand  tilings  rushed  011  lui  memory  to 
convince  her  of  the  trntli  of  li<r  father's  words.  'I'lie  iii-xlit, 
in  Lyndith  Grange,  where  my  lady  had  kissed  and  cried  over 
her,  the  midnight  visit  to  Duke's  cottage,  and,  ahove  all,  a 
vague,  intangible  something  that  had  always  drawn  her  t'» 
the  unhappy  lad.v.  How  stupid,  how  blind  she  had  been,  not 
to  guess  the  truth  before ! 

The  letter  went  on : 

I  never  knew,  until  a  few  months  ngo,  tiie  terribb?  fact  f-'  it 
she  was  not  insane  when  sliut  up  in  a  madhouse.  Mi-.  ElIv 
court  told  me.  T  have  returned  it  the  earliest  [)os«iMe  moment, 
and  I  will  never  rest  until  I  have  found,  have  reelaimed  h'-r. 
Heaven  be  merciful  to  human  error.  I  may  be  too  late -to  s  ive 
her,  but  I  meant  it  for  the  best.  You  will  come  to  rne  here— I 
long  to  see  you,  my  dailing— my  Olivia's  child. 

You  will  ask  for  "Mr.  Hawk^ley,"  and  .von  will  ke.-p  the  fact 
Of  my  presence  in  England  a  deH<l  secret.  Do  not,  in  any  way. 
show  to  Sir  Vane  Charteris  that  you  suspect  or  know  the 
truth.  We  must  be  subtle  as  serpents  in  dealing  with  a  ser- 
pent.    Mr.  Earlscourt  mies   to  the  Countess  of   Damar's  ball   to 


give    you    this    to-night    -to-morrow 


it    the    earliest    possible 


hour.  T  shall  expect  you  here.     T'^ntil    I  see  you,  my  own  dear 
child,  adieu. 

She  knew  all  at  last— at  last.  The  mystery  that  for  tke 
past  eight  years  had  been  the  unfathomable  mystery  of  her 
life  was  solved.     Her  mother  wa>^  found. 

ling  of  the  letter  had  calmed  her.    .She  held  it  to 


Tl 


le  reading 


the  lightcul   tajjers  and  watched  it  ^i"'"  t<^  ashes.     Then  she 
extingui.shv'd  them. 

The  rosy  dav/n  of  the  sweet  May  day  was  lighting  the  east 


ili^ 


itKi  I 


',}f:  • 


m 


.11 


242 


Working  in  the  P^  X. 


already  as  she  drew  back  the  curtains  of  silk  auu  lace  dud 
Uuiif^  ^ido  the  casements. 

'Jlie  sun  arose,  another  busy  day  had  bcKun  for  the  great 
fity,  ijiid  Paulina  Lisle,  in  her  floating  satin  and  laces  and 
diamonds,  sat  there  pale  and  spiritle:5S — utterly  worn  out. 

The  breakfast  bell  rang.  She  bep^an  slowly  unclaspinp:  the 
jewels,  unloosing  her  rich  drc^s.  Then  she  threw  on  a  dress- 
ing-Rown,  and  rang  for  her  maid. 

"Clear  away  those  things,  Odille,  and  fetch  me  a  cup  of 
tea  here." 

The  girl,  with  the  nimble  fingers  of  her  craft,  ]>ut  away  the 
ball  robe,  and  diamonds  in  their  casket,  and  brought  up  Miss 
Lislf'.'s  breakfast. 

With  an  effort  she  swallowed  a  few  mouth fuls,  drank  the 
tea,  and  then  pushed  aside  the  scarcely  tasted  meal. 

"Dress  me  for  the  street,  Odille,  and  be  quick.  I  am  going 
for  a  walk.  If  Mrs.  Galbraith  inquires  for  me  you  can  tell 
hqr  so." 

Odille  unbornd  the  s^hining  tresses,  and  built  up  her  young 
lady's  chignon  with  practiced  rapidity.  In  fifteen  minutes 
Miss  Lisle  stood  attired  in  a  walking  cosfumo  of  quiet  gray, 
a  close  veil  over  her  face.  It  was  no  unusual  thing  for  Pau- 
lina to  start  for  a  brisk  morning  walk  at  the  hour  when  all 
fashionable  people  were  asleep;  and  Odille  was  in  no  way 
surprised. 

It  was  just  eleven  as  she  hailed  a  cab,  and  gave  the  order 
to  the  driver: 

'^Charing  Cross  Hotel." 

Tier  heart  throbbed  with  almost  sicker ing  rapidity  as  the 
liSnsoiri  flew  along  the  many  streets. 

At  last,  at  last — in  ten  minutes  she  would  be  face  to  facs 
witli  lier  unseen  father!    * 


X 


CHAPTER    IV. 


WORKING    IN    THE    DARK. 

In  his  room  at  the  Charing  Cross  Hotel,  Robert  Hawke- 
loy  snt  alone  by  the  open  window,  smoking  his  meerschaum, 
and  waiting  for  his  daughter's  coming  with  that  grave  pa- 
t:ence  that  long  habit  had  mad(5  second  nature.     > 

Th-^re  was  a  tap  at  the  door  and  a  waiter  entered. 

'^A  ic.dy  to  see  Mr.  Hawksley,"  he  announcgd;  and  then  a 
stately  figure  appeared  close  behind  him,  veiled  and  simply 
dressiHl,  but  looking  a  "lady"  from  the  crown  of  her  head  to 
the  sole  of  her  foot.  '. 

The  waiter  disappeared,  doting  the  door  behind  him. 


Working  fn  the  Dark. 


243 


i.t^»Di. c  TTawk^loy  arose,  lavinti:  down  bis  pijie — the  lady 
fluhjf  back  her  veil,  and  fathor  diuI  duugbtLT  stood  face  to 
face. 

I'or  tbe  space  of  five  isoeonds  tliey  slood  in  dead  silence 
lookinjiT  iit  eaeb  oilier.  Sh<'  s.iw  n  niaii  bronzed  and  weatlier- 
beaten,  but  bandsonier  and  nobler  it  seemed  to  ber  tban  any 
otiier  man  sbe  liad  ever  known — save  one.  Iff?  saw  a  Ix^auti- 
ful  and  graceful  yonnj?  lady,  witli  soft,  sa|)pbire  eyes,  and 
gold  bronze  hair  ri[)i)linj,r  low  over  tlint  broad,  white  brow, 
with  sweet,  sensitive  lips,  and  a  liltle  curved,  sj)irited  chin. 

They  were  strikingly  alike,  too — eyes,  hair,  features — the 
most  casual  observer  might  have  told  the  n-iationship. 

He  smiled— a  smile  of  great  content  })assed  over  Colonel 
ITawksley's  bearded  lips,  and  he  came  forward  with  both 
hands  outstretched. 

"Paulina!  my  daughter!" 

"My  father!" 

He  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  the  pure  white  brow,  and 
the  first  meeting  was  over  w.ithout  seencvs  or  exclamations. 

For  long  they  talked  togetiier,  relating  the  grim  actualiti(^4 
that  had  made  up  their  lives  and  specubiting  as  to  what 
might  have  been. 

Presently  Ilobert  ITawksley  touched  upon  Ouy  Earlscourt. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said,  "if  your  hatn^d  of  Lord  Montalieii 
extends  to  Guy?  I  hope  not,  for  1  have  grown  as  fond  of 
him  as  though  he  were  my  own  son." 

Her  face  flushed  all  over — a  deep,  painful,  burning  re<l. 

"I  have  no  reason  to  dislike' Mr.  Earlscourt,"  she  answered, 
the  words  coming  with  an  effort;  "he  did  me  a  great  service 
once — a  service  few  men  would  have  rendered." 

"You  must  have  been  equally  astonished  and  delighte<l 
when  he  appeared  so  suddeidy  before  you  last  niglit  at  the 
Countess  of  Damar's  ball." 

"Very  much  surprised  beyond  a  doubt,  since  T  thought  hini 
dead.  Ho  you  not  know  that  his  death  was  announced  many 
months  ago  in  one  of  the  .American  papers  you  sent  me?" 

"T  did  not  know  it.  And  you  really  thought  him  dead 
until  he  appeared  like  a  ghost  before  you?  Not  that  (luy 
much  resembles  a  ghost  at  present.  Tt  was  as  close  a  thing 
at;  ever  T  i^aw — he  liad  half  a  Inindred  wounds,  and  fought 
through  the  camiKwgn  like  a  lion.  It  was  while  he  lay  si(?k 
in  the  hospital,  almost  to  death,  that  F  foun<l  your  picture  in 
a  locket  attached  to  his  watchchain,  and  discovered  that  he 
-•knew  you,  and  was  a  countryman." 

That  Jeep  flush  rose  up  once  more  on  Paulina's  fair  face. 

"My  picture!"  'he  said.  "How  oam«  he  by  that?  I  cer- 
tainly ney«r  £ave  it  to  him." 


i  ' 


I 


244 


Working  in  the  Dark. 


"ITe  told  me  as  much  af'terwanl — owiiod  that  he  piinoinGcl 
it  as  a  souvenir  {»f  Kii/iUmd  and  .v(<u,  to  carry  into  his  exile. 
Ah,  he  is  a  hrave  hid,  and  a  gallant  one.  He  saved  my  life 
oiico  at  the  risk  of  his  own."  • 

"Tell  me  about  it— father." 

Ilcr  voice  was  straiigcly  soft  and  tremulous — her  facQ 
droojjcd  forward  on  her  father's  shoulder,  something  vague 
and  sweet  stirring  in  her  heart.  It  was  a  theme  Robert 
llawksley  liked  well — the  young  man  had  grown  as  dear  to 
him  as  a  won.  Jle  told  her.  while  the  moments  went  by, 
stori(>s  of  his  braver^',  of  his  generosity,  of  his  genius,  of  his 
irrej)roachable  life — of  how  nobly  he  had  redeemed  the  ])ast. 

'I  believe,  at  the  worst,  his  greatest  crimes  were  but  the 
thoughtless  follies  of  youth.  TJuy  Karlseourt  has  the  noblest 
nature  of  any  man  I  know.  He  eould  not  stoop  to  do  a  mean 
or  dastardly  thing.  His  comrades  idolized  him — his  officers 
respected  him.  1  believe  he  is  a  true  genius,  and  destine^l  to 
make  a  shining  mai'k  in  the  literature  of  his  day." 

An  interval  of  silence  follo\ved — his  daughter's  face  was 
still  hidden,  but  it  was  to  hide  the  tears  that  were  falling 
now. 

And  this  was  the  man  she  thought  eapable  of  selling  his 
manhood  for  her  money — th{»  man  who  had  sacrificed  his  life 
to  s{!\'e  her  from  his  brother! 

"1  don't  see  the  need  of  our  spending  the  first  hours  of  our 
meeting  in  talking  altogether  of  Earlseourt — fine  fellow 
though  he  be.  It  strikes  me  I  should  like  to  hear  some- 
thing of  yourself." 

She  lifted  h?t'^-face,  and  laughed  a  little  bitterly. 

"A  most  unprofitable  subject.  I  am  a  fashionable  lady, 
wra])ped  up  in  dressing,  dancing,  driving — rather  a  striking 
contrast  'to  the  sort  of  life  you  have  been  speaking  of." 

"And  engaged  to  the  Marquis  of  Heatherland  ?'* 

"No."  -  o  > 

"No?     Why,  T  saw  in  the  'Mornhir/  Post' " 

"Very  likely — still  even  the  press  is  not  infallible.  Such 
an  engagemcjjt  did  exist,  but  it  has  ceased." 

"It  has  ceased'     IVfay  1  ask—since  when?" 

Rh"  flinched  a  little  under  his  grave,  steady,  kindly  eyes. 

"Since  last  night." 

"Did  you  love  Lord  Heatherland,  my  daughter?  The 
World  siie;;ks  well  of  him." 

"And  he  deserves  all_  the  world  v  .m  say — he  is  one  of  the 
best  men  I  «>v<>r  knew.  Hut — T  never  loved  him.  I  don't 
know  that  1  ever  loveil  any  one — that  T  am  capable  of  it.  I 
am  hard,  and  selfish,  and  worldly,  and  ambitious,  and  all  evil 
things — ^unworthy  to  be  any  good  man's  wife.    I  shall  never 


Working:  in  the   DnrkJ 


245 


marry— .yuu  lual  luit  Inok  nt  ice  in  tli;ii  way — T  moan  it. 
My  <Mi;^M<-r(MiM'iit  willi  j.onj  I  It'.itlKMhiiid  li:i-;  ('f\H(.'«l  wliat  t 
am  now  I  will  no  to  my  frr;ivr.  \Vlj*'ii  we  find  njy  mother  - 
all  I  why  should  we  t;i]k  of  ;iny tiling"  bu!  h«>r  I  -  w<'  three  will 
leave  this  J.ondon  life,  ;iiid  ;i!i  pertaiiiiiijj:  to  it,  niid  j^row  old, 
in  pcaee,  somewhere  out   of  the  worhl."  . 

Her  voiee  *;ave  wjiy  in  .1  ^<>r\  of  -uh.  Xut  eajjnhic  of  lovinj? 
any  one,  wlien  she  knew  thnl  sh(  loved  (Jny  K.trlsecdirt  dearly 
— dearly,  and  that  sjie  had  loved  him  from  the  first  -ay,  in 
the  days  when  Alhin  F;ine.  the  .irtist,  iiad  whiied  away  in. 
her  company  that  rosy  sununer  ei^iht  years  ^-one. 

"T.et  us  talk  of  my  motlier,"  she  n'pe;ited.  "What  do  you 
propose  to  do — how  to  find  her  ^" 

"I  shall  set  detectives  on  the  track  at  once,  and  renniiii 
quietly  here  to  await  events.  Can  you  come  to  see  me  often, 
Paulina,  or  will  it  inconvenience  you  too  much?" 

"I  shall  come  to  see  you  every  day  at  this  hour,  if  you  like. 
I  am  in  every  way  my  own  mistress,  free  to  come  and  fi^o  a.H 
I  choose.  And  now,  as  it  is  close  upon  two  o'clock,  I  think 
I  had  better  return.  They  mi^ht  [)ossii)ly  fall  to  wondeiing 
what  had  become  of  me.'' 

He  led  her  to  the  door,  and  they  parted  with  a  handclasp. 
He  was  never  demonstrative,  an<l  la  r  relationship  was  new  03 
yet  to  Paulina. 

Guy  Earlscourt  had  made  up  his  mind  not  to  re-enter 
society  upon  his  return  to  London.  lie  hud  learned  how 
hollow  and  empty  it  all  was — he  had  learned  a  healthi{>r  kind 
of  life  in  the  past  six  years.  IJut  he  found  himscLf  (juite  a 
"lion,"  the  hero  of  the  day:  society  s<iujj:ht  him — crowds  of 
invitations  pc^ined  in  upon  him  from  the  hij^hest  in  the  land. 
Many  were  old  friends  whom  Ik^  could  not  well  refuse.  So 
he  said  to  himself,  half  ashamed  of  this  yielding;  but  was 
that  solely  the  reason^  Wherever  he  went  he  saw  the  proud, 
beautiful  face  of  the  girl  who  was  his  wife,  flis  wife!  what 
a  pang — half  pain,  half  remorse — it  gave  him!  He  should 
not  have  taken  advantage  of  that  hour  of  madness,  ha 
thought,  when  she  had  besought  him  to  save  lu^r — wh(>n,  car- 
ried away  by  the  excitement  of  the  private  theatricals,  she 
had  become  his  wife.  It  was  blighting  her  life,  he  could  see. 
She  hated  him,  and  took  little  pains  to  conceal  it.  Night 
after  night  he  left  those  gtiy  ass(>nd)lies  where  she  shone  a 
(jueen  by  right  divine  of  her  peerless  beauty  and  grace,  vow- 
ing, in  his  passion,  never  to  return,  and  yet — when  to-morrow 
came,  the  temptation  to  look  ence  more  upon  that  perfect 
face,  though  colder  than  marble  to  him.  was  irresistible,  find 
he  yitlded.    And  she  never  dreamed,  in  the  rtmotoftt  wa.y« 


v 


\* 


246 


Working  in  the  Dark. 


how  with  hin   whole,  stnd!*^  heart,  nud   foi    the  first  titiie  ic 
his  life,  he  wm:;  j^iowiii^  to  love  her. 

Miss  I, Isle  wu-s  alnio-t  as  much  an  ohjVct  of  interest  to  so- 
ciety just  now  as  (luy  irnnseif.  She  had  broken  c*fT  Iier  en- 
gagement with  the  Manjuis  ol"  rieatherhnul  at  tiie  elevchth 
hour-- positively  refusing  the  best  mateh  of  the  season — and 
a  prospective  duke.  J.ord  JTeatlierland  had  gone  abroad,  but 
before  his  departuie  he  had  taken  care  to  let  the  ehdis  and 
the  drawing-rooms  of  JJclgraviu  know  tliat  it  was  by  ^'iss 
Lisle's  own  express  desire  the  mateh  had  been   broken. 

**r  admire  her  above  all  women,  and  I  always  sIimII,"  !:;id 
been  his  words.  "It  is  the  great  misfortune  of  my  life  that 
she  cannot  care  for  me  strongly  enough  to  be  my  wife."" 

It  created  a  profound  sensation.  Peoj)le  said  very  hard 
things  of  Miss  Lisle  behind  her  back,  called  her  a  heart!(-s 
jilt,  who  would  end,  no  doubt,  as  she  deserved,  by  being  an 
old  maid.  But  they  locked  upon  her  with  new  interest,  as  a 
woman  capable  of  tramjding  under  foot  a  ducal  c  ironet ;  and 
the  beautiful  heiress  was  more  sought  after  thar.  ever. 

Nearly  a  fortnight  had  passed.  She  visited  h(  r  father 
every  day — but  her  mother's  hiding-place  had  not  yet  hrvn 
discovered.  She  met  (luy  perpetually — day  and  night,  nut] 
with  the  rest  of  the  world  saw  the  marked  preference  Lady 
Kdiih  ('live  showed  him.  They  rarely  spoke — a  formal  bov^ 
in  jjassing  was  the  oJily  gr(u>ting  they  exchanged,  but  in  bn 
heart  she  knew  she  was  intensely  jealous.  He  could  net, 
would  not,  marry  the  Lady  Edith;  her  secret  now  and  for- 
ever was  safe;  l)ut  who  was  *o  tell  he  might  lot  learn  to  lf)ve 
her;  She  grew  rest!'  ss  and  miserable — the  world  began  to 
say  she  v^as  regretting  the  step  she  had  taken  with  th-^  ir.ar- 
(luis— tli.'it  she  was  approaehing  five-and-twenty,«inid  growing 
quite  faded  uid  pn.sse.  She  was  sick  at  heart — sick,  body 
and  soul  longing  uns{)eakal)ly  for  the  hour  when  her  mother 
migljt  Ih'  found,  and  she  herself  free  to  (juit  England  and 
him  forever. 

It  was  ckn-e  u})on  the  la^^f  of  the  second  week,  that,  making 
her  morning  visit  to  her  father,  she  found  him  pacing  up 
and   down   his   hotel  sitting-room — Hushed,  excited,   anxious. 

"You  have  found  her!"  was  Paulina's  first  cry  as  she  looked 
upon  liis  fiice. 

fie  li;ul  found  her — or  rather  the  detective  in  his  employ 
hud.  'llw  i)rlvat<'  asylum  was  at  Cheswick — ^he  held  the 
adflre^s  in  his  hand — \.A<]y  Cliarteris  was  in  tolerably  good 
heairli.  both  nn'otally  and  bodily,  and  the  medical  superin- 
tender;  i;-ii  been  <  xpeetiiig  Mio  baronet  every  day  for  the 
past  tliice  weeks  to  eome  and  take  his  wiie  home.  The 
asyluni  war  a  tborouglilj  respectable  institution,  and  Lady 


IC 


Working  in  ttie  Dark 


247 


ci 


n\: 


hiid  I 


cMiiKMi,  \vn.-4  almost  ciitirelv  rosforcd,  an«' 


rendy  Jit    any  moiiiciil  to   leave 


(( 


Veil   must  ^'o  to  C.'heswiek   at  mico,  Paulina,"   Ium-  fatlier 


said. 


)U  will  introduce;  yoursclt"  as  the  patient's  dau;;hter 


snit  ly  Sir  Vane,  to  lirin^  liei  liouie.  Here  is  a  note  1  liav»! 
written--a  j.retty  good  imitation  of  his  handwriting',  I  tliink, 
in    which    lie   says    illness   nrevonts    1 


ns    aeeompanyuij^r   yon. 


"iou  must  lose  no  time — I  liave  arranj^ed  evc^rytliiug.  When 
yuu  (luit  the  a.^vlum,  you  will  take  the  tit:  t  train  for  Lin- 
Cvlnshire.  (io  t<j  your  old  friend,  l>uke  Masoji's-  I  will  fol- 
low. On  the  way  you  ean  hreak  to  her  the  news  of  my  ar- 
rival— prepare  her  to  uK'et  me  at  the  cottaKt'.  ()ne<'  there, 
and  with  me,  let  Sir  Vane  Charteris  eliiim  her  if  he  dare!" 

Paulina  listened  hreathlessly — took  the  note,  and  (  titere<l 
the  cah  her  father  ealle<l.  'Vvn  minutes,  and  she  was  speed- 
in;^'  aloni^  rapidly  Cheswiekwanl,  fully  i)repari'd  f.)r  the  part 
she  had  tc   play. 

The  part  was  so  easy,  it  required  little  duplicity  to  fj^o 
through  with  It.  Miss  Lisle  met  the  medical  superintendent, 
and  announced  herself  as  Lady  Charteris'  (lau;.jit(!r.  She 
gave  him  her  father's  forged  note — he  read  it  as  a  matter  of 
course- — bowed  low  before  the  stately,  beautiful  woman,  and 
led  her  at  once  to  his  patient.  Paulina's  heart  beat  fast. 
How  was  she  to  tell  her  mother  might  not  betray  her  in  her 
first  surprised  She  paused  as  the  doctor  was  about  to  open 
tho  door. 

"Stop,"  she  said;  "my  mother  has  not  seen  me  for  many 
years.  The  shock  may  be  too  much  for  Ium-.  Do  you  go  in, 
and  tell  her  I  am  here,  and  let  u.i  meet  <iuite  alone;." 

"As  you  please,  Miss  Charteris,"  the  polite  superintendent 
sa'd;  "you  can  wait  here." 

He  Ushered  her  into  a  sunny  apartment.  She  stood,  her 
back  turned  to  the  door,  looking  out  of  th<'  window,  trying  to 
calm  her  rapid  heart-throbbing.  She  was  not  kept  waiting 
long.  In  three  minutes  the  door  opened,  she  turned  slowly 
re  und— mother  and  daughter  stood  alone  together! 

Those  six  years  of  misery  and  im7)ris()nment  iiad  donc^ 
their  work  upon  the  wife  of  Robert  Lisle.  Her  face  had 
blanched  to  a  dead  waxen  whiteness — her  golden  hair  had 
turned  10  silver.  The  g.oat  black  eyes  looked  out  from  the 
bloodless  face  with  a  frightened,  terrified  appeal.  She  stood 
on  the  threshold  irresolute — trembling — she  (lid  not  ieco;jni/.(^ 
this  tall,  Juno-like  young  lady  with  the  lovely  face  and 
large,  pitying  blue  eyes. 

"Are  you?"  she  faltered;  "no,  you  are  not  Mau(i."  vSh  ■ 
.Irew   away,   trembling  violently   all   over.      "J.    Ho*Vi-    kno 


^.vo 


u. 


;he  said;  "did  he  send  you  here'i 


';'> 


^^ 


II  ■■ 


m\ 


MS 


Working  in  the   Dark. 


r 


un'iiiji  cjirno  oVfr,  put  licr  "^fiwtfi^r  youii^  nrni' 


l)OU 


t  lief. 


aimI  !<;<ik('<l  <l()\vn  into  that   l'riKii«''H(Ml  tncc  with  a  hii.vc     ov- 
ji:^  sii.ilc. 

"I  Mill  not  MamJ,"  she  wliispcKwl  with  a  kiss;  "I  am  Pau- 
lina I.isl*'- mother — dear  little,  snfferin^r  mother.  No,  don'* 
^ly  out;  you  will  spoil  all.  1  have  eoiiie  to  take  yfiu  away 
and  Sir  N'ane  Cijarteris  knows  nothinjj  ahout  il.  Don't  wait 
to  ask  questions  now — and  he  enlin— don't  excite  suspicion. 
1  am  ^ioiiif?  to  lake  you  away — the  do<tor  thinks  1  am  Sir 
Vane's  daughter- don't  undeceive  him.  (lo,  ^^'t  ready  at 
once-  every  second  is  jjiccious,  and  l.c  'aim — for  all  otir 
sakes  try   an<l   he  calm." 

She  was  ci'^ner  th*n  Pauliia  had  h(»i)cd.  Her  eyes  lit  up 
-  hop«'  flaslu'il  over  iier  tace.  "1  will,"  she  answered,  firndy; 
"wait   for  nie  heic." 

She  '(ft  the  room — in  ten  minutes  sIh;  wad  back,  accom- 
l)ani('d   hy   the  medical   man. 

"I  can  safely  pronounce  l-.a(ly  (^harieris  })erfoctly  restored, 
Miss  Charteris."  he  said,  blandly."  "I  told  Sir  Vane  so, 
weeks  ajjfo.  and  Jiave  hccn  expectinjj;^  liim  daily.  vVmusement 
and  <'lian.u,'e  cd"  air  are  all  she  reciuires  now\  And  how  about 
tlio  hv^i-a^e?" 

"You  will  wjiit  until  Sir  Vane  visits  you  in  person,"  Pau- 
lina said  (piietly,  drawing'  ber  mother's  arm  witbin  bcr  own. 
"ITo  will  i)robably  be  sufficiently   restored  by   to-moridw." 

They  \Korv  at  the  do<tr — slio  could  hardly  i^redit  lier  own 
f^uceess.  'i'be  bland  superintendent  bowed-  low,  as  he  bade 
adieu  to  the  baronet's  beautiful  daughter,  and  assisted  my 
lady  into'tbe  cab.  The  uioment  after,  they  jicre  whirling 
awa.T  far  from  the  asylum,  where  for  six  lonj.^  years  this  jxior, 
pale  woman  had  been  incarcerated 

Paulina  leaned  forward  to  jjrive  the  driver  his  order,  then 
ehe  turned  and  clasped  aj<ain  that  weak,  frail  form  in  her 
arms. 

"You  look  bewildered,  darlin^r  motlier — oh,  how  easy,  how 
:!iatural  the  name  comes!  Tt  is  suftit'ient  to  bewilder  you,  or 
ijie,  the  rapidity  with  which  this  has  been  manajjeil.  1  know 
all,  you  see — that  you  are  my  mother— everything'.  Wlio  do 
you  think  has  told  me?"  She  kissed  again,  with  a  smile,  the 
appealing:  face — "my  father."  _  f*.^ 

"Your— father!" 

"And  your  husband — yonr  <mly,  your  rightful  husband, 
mother — Hobert  Lisle." 

She  clasped  her  wasted  hands^— she  tried  once  or  twice 
before  the  words  she  wanted  to  say  would  (luit  her  pallid  lii>8: 

"Robert — my  Robert!  he  is  alive  still!" 

"Alive  and  well,  dear  mother ;  and — now  try  and  bear  irood 


"P 


"M( 


Ry 

term 
renio> 
prisoi 
sane 
entra 
covi 
be  re 
nevei 
At  ot 
and 
had 
() 
conv 
peat< 
abro 
Van^ 
last 
for 
trns 
out 
dtiso 


Workinor  in  the   Dark. 


249 


lis 


news  as  hrnvcl.v  mv.  you  Iuitc  honu'  inisforfim* crHniiJif  hcit 
to  cliiiiii  .voii." 

'I  luTo  was  a  faiiii,  luw  cry;  PiniliMa  drow  lu-r  closip  to  hor, 
:tii<l   kissed  lici*  nK!i>i>   :iii(i  a^aiii. 

"I'oor  liftl«'  inotlurl  ^'cs corniu^r  Ikhim'  ti  clnirii  you. 
Noll  art'  his  witV,  you  know-  iu'  luis  the  rijrlit  Mhat  \v;(;k(»d 
baronet,  none,  lie  is  coining?!  mother!  inotlier!  tliiiik  of 
that!" 

'M'aulitia,"  lur  iiiothor  said,  wilh  a  sort  of  erv,  "he  !• 
hero  r 

\'\>v  an  answer,    Paulina   held   her  eJo-er. 

"'I\'ll  me,"  Olivia  said;  "tell  me.  !  aulina-  I  rati  hear  to 
hear  such  joyful  news — Uohert   is  lure!" 

"My    fa  I  lu-r  is  hero.     Nothinj;  ean  ever  cojne  between  you 


him  af^ain." 


and  ,, 

fler    mother    fell    ba<'k,    noarly    falntiii^r.     Paulina   eauKht 
b(»th  hands,  and  lookrul  straijfht,  almost  sternly,  into  her  oyos. 

"Mother,  if  you  faint,  1  will  never  forgive  you.  Von  have 
a  jcnirney  to  take — we  are  ^oin^r  <lown  to  Lincolnshire,  to 
Duke  Mas(in'<.  My  lath*  r  will  follow  by  the  next  iiain. 
Tlien  1  K've  y(tu  leave  to  faint,  if  you  will  insist  upon  it. 
Meantime  1  am  Moinji'  to  fasten  this  veil  over  your  fac 
there  is  vo  telling'  whom  w(;  may  m.-et  at  the  station." 


•e; 


•X- 


* 


* 


By  one  X)f  tlie  fatalities  which  rule  our  lives,  and  which  \v« 
term  chance.  Sir  \':inc  Charteris  had  chosen  that  very  day  to 
ren.ove  his  unfoi'ttniate  captive  from  the  a.sylum  to  another 
prison.  She  had  been  received  in  all  ^^ood  faith — she  was  in- 
sane most  likely  for  the  time,  and  for  weeks  after  her 
entrance  raved  In  delirlnm  c^  a  brain  feve".  Upon  her  re- 
covery, she  had  been  at  time.-  vildly  exeitea,  demanding,'  to 
be  )'el<Mised,  crying  out  she  was  no  wife  of  Sir  Vane's,  and 
never  had  been,  that  her  true  husband  had  been  in  America. 
At  other  times  she  would  lapse  into  sullen  despair  and  f^loom, 
and  i)ass  wliole  days  in  speechless  misery.  So  the  first  years 
had  jione. 

Of  late,  however,  even  the  jicople  of  the  asylum  became 
convi!»ced  cd'  her  perfect  sanity,  an<l  the  physician  had  re- 
peatedly urjicd  the  baronet  to  remove  Ids  wife — to  take  her 
abroad,  and  give  her  amusement  and  change  of  air.  Sir 
Vane  had  delayed  doiiifj:  so  to  the  last  possible  moment.  At  ^ 
last  a  happy  thoutrht  struck  him.  lie  would  fit  up  "The  Firs" 
for  her  reception,  employ  a  thoroufrhly  unprineiplpd  and 
tnistworthy  woman  to  take  care  of  her,  and  leave  her  lO  draj? 
out  the  remainder  of  her  wretched  existence  in  the  dreary 
dttkjulation  of  that  desolate  coast.    It  wa^  Mf  ^;  sea  iog»  and 


•  » 


•    1'J 


|!1 


a;o 


vVorking  in  the  Darlr. 


(.MHt  winds  wcro  ahuiuiuiit,  tli:  hoiiso  was  djiinp  nud  drauglifcy 
— <ff;ith,  no  doubt,  would  simm  dily  rid  him  of  a  hatod  in- 
('unil)ranco.  He  longed  intras<'ly  for  her  death,  an<l  tlie  mlo 
reversion  of  her  fortune  tq^  ^laud — the  time  was  very  near, 
li«'  thoimlif   now. 

rie  drove  up  to  thr  asylum  in  a  four-wheeled  eal)— ho 
meant  to  take  his  wife  straijfht  to  Kssex.  He  was  admitted, 
and  met  the  doetor  in  the  hail. 

''What!"  the  suixM-intcndeiit  exclaimed.  "Sir  Vane,  so 
(Boon  after  hi.s  niessen^'er?  And  your  note  said  you  were  ill. 
Yours  has  been  a  speedy  recovery." 

'*\Vhat  note  ^  I  d<«i't  understand  you.  I  have  eomo  for 
my  wife." 

"Your  wTFe!  My  dear  Sir  Vane,  of  course  you  know  your 
wife  has  gone!" 

"Oone!"  The  baronet  started  hack  blankly.  "Gone!  Do 
you  mean  dead  f ' 

"HeavfMi  forbid!  Lady  Chartcria*  health,  considering  all 
things,  is  remarkably  good.  Is  it  possible? — but  no,  I  cannot 
have  been  duped.  Here  is  your  own  note,  demanding  her 
release." 

Ho  handed  the  baronet  the  note  Paulina  had  given  him, 
with  an  injured  air.  Sir  Vane  read  it  through,  turning  the 
hue  of  ashes,  with  mingled  amaze  and  rage. 

"This  note  is  a  forgery.  I  never  wrote  it — so  poor  a 
forgery,  too,  that  I  am  amazed  any  one  could  be  stupid 
enough  to  be  deceived  by  it  who  ever  saw  my  U»nd.  Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me,  Dr.  Harding,  that  Lady  Charteris  has  left 
your  asylum?" 

"Left  an  hour  ago,"  replied  the  doctor,  sullenly. 

"With  whom?" 

"The  bearer  of  that  note." 

"Who  was  the  bearer  of  this  note?" 

His  thou^'hts  flew  to  Lord  Mont«dien — to  Lord  Montalien, 
who  never  forgot  nor  forgave,  and  who  fully  meant  to  place 
the  pap(T  he  held  in  Olivia's  hand,  should  he  ever  succeed  Iv 
finding  her. 

"A  young  lady — your  daughter." 

"My  daughter!     Impossible!" 

"She  announced  herseli  as  Lady  Charteris'  daughter — the 
same  thing,  I  take  it." 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  she  was  like?  1  i«ift  my  daughter 
Maud  ill  at  home  of  a  headache." 

"She  was  tall,  the  finest  figure  and  mof5t  class^icaliy  beauti- 
ful face  T  ever  saw.  She  had  daik-blue  eyes,  and  gold-browu 
hair,  and  the  manners  of  a  lady  in  waiting." 

"Pau^'na!"  the  baronet  cried,  under  hi»  breath;  "the  vets 


last  iK*rso 
th#  dro\ 
"Cilyw 
Mie,  Sir  ^ 
"Kver^v 
bevw  a  1( 

With 
Where  e( 
yho   ha<l 
thought  < 
trlys,  th 
takin;;  tl 
upon  hii 
"She'l 
She  won 
that  girl 
an«l   1   n 
He  lo 
an  hour, 
eah   to 
Paulina 
at  tlu'  I 
])aper  w 
easily  I 
lie  had 
"Cun 
she  wa 
1  fe  n 
inouirii 
left    tw 
l)eeulia 
(•Hieial> 
questio 
j^ro.ul 
tii-ket, 
for  <*1<> 
flowinj. 
he  kiif 

He 
evt  Li 
wif«'. 
Of  wli 
I'.hMiia 
posuri 
^ee  tl 
He  t. 


K 


^ 


Working  U\  the   D:irk. 


2^1 


last  iHTHon  T  nln.iiM  rvrr  think  of.  W,  \i>\\  kriov,  vvl»i«'li  wny 
th#  (Irovr  upon   Living  lirrt;,  llanliiiK''' 

"Cil.Ywani — I  know  no  rnoro.  Do  you  rrnlly  monn  t(.  ti  II 
un\  Sir  V;nu',  tlitTo  in  nnytliin^  wroii^  iiLout  nil  this^' 

•'Kvcr^VtliiiiK  i"*  wron^'.  It  in  an  iiifcrnii!  plot.  Ymu  Ikivc 
l)ocn  ii  1(M»1,  iind   I  jini  a  ruined  mnn." 

With  that  answor  Sir  Vano  strctd**  out  of  \\w  hnu-^e. 
Wht'H'  could  Paulina  y)ossihl>'  havo  takon  Iht  niothcr!'  ]]•  w 
sho  ha<i  fo\ind  her  he  did  not  tin  n  stop  to  iiuiuir' .  Ho 
thought  over  tho  people  Ik;  knew  in  i-(nidon;  except  the  Afch- 
crlys,  there  wn.s  n(»t  a  family  wlioni  he  could  inKi;^iiic  her 
takinj;  the  sick  lady  to.  A  sudden,  swift  inspiration  lla-hed 
upon   him. 


SI 


'She'll  'ake  her  to  T.incohisliire,  to  her  old  home,  of  em 


I  r--e. 


le  u 


ould  never  attempt  to  kicp  her  in    London,     'i'o  ihink 


that  f-'irl  has  heen  i)lo1tin^!:  against  me,  for  month-,  j  ("h.i|  s, 
an<l   I   nev(!r  suspected   it." 

He  h)oked  at  his  watch — uii  express  train  would    j  : ■"   In 


an 


hoi 


ir, 


II 


e  ga 


ve  the  driver  his  oi-der.  and  fell  h:iek   i 


cah    to    think.      Not    jdea-aiit    tlioUiihl-.    \>y    any    e  c 
Pjiulina   to(»k  her  to  Speekhaven,   Lord  MniifMli-ii.  .-i 


I      I     1 1 ! 


■MJlt 


at  the  Priory, 


won 


Id   1 


lear  ot    It   at    t.nee 


ind 


paper  which  implicated  him  for  hii^amy.      His  mani. 


I  r   ( 


d 


j'asi 


l.v  1 


te  proM'U   ill< 


'.laud 


ii;(  uif  iiiiate.   and    i 


he  had  coveted  so  go  ahsolutely   to   liohert    Li->'(''-   d  i    i.'  ''i  r, 
"(Hirse  her!''  ho  muttered;  "why  did  1  not  j)oi.<m  !;•  :    .\i..  m 
she  was  in  my  power?*' 

Jfo  reached  the  London  tcrnunu'',  and  was  al  ont  ''  »;  ikc* 
injjuiries  e(»ncerning  the  pas-en/jertA  hy  liw  n:«i].  »■• '•  ■ '••  !i  d 
left  two  hours  l.efore.  Pjudina'^  co!iiiii;;nd;ii^  Iwi;*  •  "n\ 
])eeuliar  grai-e  could  not  fail  t<»  attra<t  the  atteu:'**':  .  i  -'.e 
oHicials,  even  at  a  crovviled  liondou  railwjy  stutitni.  I';  i  tlu» 
«luestions  he  would  have  a^ked  died  upon  his  lips,  ;  .i|>- 

proarhed  the  ticket  ofHce.  for  standing  thei-e  tik  ;u  h'S 
ticket,  was  a  nian  h«-  knew  well.  .\  migi  lie  lia<i  n  ti  -iM-n 
for  eloso  u]ion  a  (|Uarter  of  a  century,  hi!t  v\!ieni,  in  p'te  of 
flowing  heard,  of  foieijiii  hronze,  of  the  slcrchcd  >o!!:l't<  j-o, 
lie  knew  at  once  -IJohert   Lish^! 

lie  drew  l»ack  among  the  crowd.  All  w;h  c'ear  im  •.'•.  '  I?<"h- 
ert  Lisle  had  <'ome  hai-k.  a  I'leli  man,  n<i  doul'i.  lo  c1."mi  his 
wif<',  ami  ex|)ose  tlu-  villainy  llial  l:ei<l  j'umh  an.irt  ••(;  h.-  :r. 
Of  what  use  was  it  to  folhiw  now  -the  game  wi's  up—  I  o"<4 
i.loni.alieii's  revenge  was  rdl  that  \\ 'js  needed  for  hi-^  •  .\- 
posure  and  disgi-ace  And  y»i  he  d«^'t''rndned  to  foliftw  to 
^'O  the  play  playec?  out — to  face  his  fate  without  flnichinj?. 
fie  took  his  ticket  and  his  place  in  a  different  rtomuartinejit 


f: 


2*)!! 


"Paulina  to  Alice.' 


from  that  of  Robert  Lislo,  aiul  London  was  left  beliind  lilu 
a  ."-nioky  dream.  *' 

Into  t!io  fresh  conntrv,  wliero  i\\o  younj^  gra-^s  and  rowslip 
were   l.riglit — into   tlie  iiiritic  lieait  of    IJneolnshire.   the  e;-; 
press  train  flew.     It  was  close  upon  six,  and   tlie  at'lerno!-! 
sun   was  slanting   westward   as  tlic.v   rnshrd    into  tlie  Speck 
haveji    station.     Still    kcepin/:;'    out    of    si^^lit.     the     haroru  * 
watched  his  rival.      Roliert  Lisle  took  a  fly- -the  haronc^t  took 
another— remaining?  well   in   the  rear.      Duke  Mason's   hou^i 
was    tlie    destination    of    the    forere.ost.    the    othei     followeil, 
liol  crt    Lisle  sprang'  out  and  eiitercd   the  litth^  p:ard(Mi  ^at  \ 
will)  rapid  steps  approaehinj?  the  house.     Sir  Va!^(^  (^harlcr;- 
al-.'.   disn)ounted,  also  entered    the  f2:arden,   and    approaelu^d. 
'ill  '  li'^ise  door  was  opon,  he  heard  a  womati's  shrill  scream. 
I.\  w'fe's  voice  he  knew,  and  hurried  nearer,  and  stood  look- 
irj.^  -n. 

He  >aw  a  very  striking  picture. 

Duke  Mason  and  his  sister  stood  apart — Paulina  was  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  standinp:  near  her  was  Robert 
Lisle,  and  the  woman  who  had  been  his  wife  in  the  eyes  of  th<^ 
world  for  so  many  years,  lying  still  and  senseless  in  his 
arms. 


CHAPTER  V. 

*'PADLINA     TO     ALICE."     " 

The  bold,  evil  spirit  within  the  man  rose  with  the  sense  of 
his  utter  defeat.  He  set  his  teeth,  and  strode  resolutely  in4o 
their  midst. 

Paulina  looked  up  and  recognized  him — growing  very  pahv 
Duke  Mason  took  a  step  forward   with  a  startled  exclama 
tion.     Atid  Robert  Lisle  lifted  his  fa«e,  white  from  excess  of 
feeling,  and  looked  at  him. 

The  two  husbands  of  tbo  one  wife  after  a  quarter  of  a 
cei  t'-jv  were  once  more  face  to  face!  ■      '       - 

T!i(    it'i-enet   took   the   initiative. 

"Wli '(  '<  tlie  tr(>tniini.'  of  tlii-if"  ]\c  demandcMl.  ''Who  are 
you,  sir  who  lio^d  my  wife?  Paulina  Li^ie.  how  dare  you 
remov;    I  ndy  (harteris  from  the  asylum  where  I  placed  her?" 

]?el'i.!v  Paulina  could  rejily,  hr  c  father  interfered — quite 
gent1.\ 

"^la-;in.  will  you  carry  nty  wife  U]»stair-'''  Panhna,  you 
will  a(.'coiin)any  Miss  Mason,  and  endeavor  to  restore  her 
For  this  man,  T  will  answer  his  questions."    -  ^ 

Pa  i'^  uv  clasp^  -hter  hands  anxiously  abunt  his  arr^- 


**You  \ 

K.     Ther 

Tie  sm 

•'1  pro 

()lijsie:ini 

■  tron.Kt'V 
law. 

IIo    pi; 
watched 
made  a  '■ 
"Lady 
peril  yoi 
Dnke 
powerful 
liesitatec 
monuMit 
''Now 
his  arm? 
haronet, 
moment 
to  ask  t 
"You 
ago  inv( 
sconded 
fled   to 
know  y 
"I  ll 
a  marr 
Vane  C 
never,  f 
on  the 
answer 
I  was 
how  wi 
charge 
to  let 
rey  Ly 
accusa 
dark  - 
law  sli 
second 
respect 
never 
unless 
you  o\ 
land 


K 


ii;i(l  lik( 

<'(>wslin 
fho   (>•: 
t(>n)(Mi'i 

r»  Sju'ck- 
haroiic' 

iK^t  fook 

ollov.Oi), 

(Ml     fJTilt   ', 

screen!  I. 
xh]  jook- 


a   wns   in 
'OS  of  tllP 

s   in   his 


"iTiitiiilfliiMi 


I  sensp  of 
itoly  \^yio 

'ery  ])n]<\ 
oxclnrn.i 
excess  nf 

t'ter  of  a 


Who  ore 
(hire  vmi 
•ed  lior?" 
'H — qiiile 

^u\{\,  you 
toi'p  hor 


''Paulina  to  Alict 


2S? 


**You  will  Tiot  (junrrcl  with  him.  falhti.  Tie  is  not  \V(jith 
K.     Tliere  will  be  no  ahcrcatidu     iiroiiiis*    ikc  that." 

Tic  stiiiled  gravely. 

•'1  promi-e,  my  tl^'Jir;  I  have  ii(;t  the  slif:iu('>t  intciitiuii  (if 
{iluslniii^  (»r  (lunrrelin^  willi  Sir  Vaiu-  Charteris.  A 
■.troM.Kcr  power  tliaii  mine  shall  deal  with  iiirn — the  Kii^lish 
law." 

IIo  i)laced  Olivia's  faint  in^^  form  in  Duke's  arm-,  and 
walchfd  him  and  the  two  wonuMi  <iuit  the  room.  Sir  \'ano 
made,  a  s<'c'ond   iiois,v    attempt   to   interfere. 

"Lady  (-havteris  shall  m.t  (juit  this  room!  Mason,  on  your 
poril  you  t(»iieh  my  wife!" 

Duke  paid  no  heod.  'i'he  haroiiet  surveyed  the  six-foot, 
po\\»'rfu!-lookinji",  soldierly  iijrure  hoforc  him,  and  wisely 
liesitated  before  tryinj?  to  enforeo  his  w(»rds  by  deeds.  In  a 
moment   tluy   were  alone. 

''Now  then.  Sir  Vane  (^harteris,"  said  Hobert  Lisle,  folding 
his  arms,  and  lookiiij]^  down  at  the  small,  pursy  figure  of  the 
baronet.  "I  will  hear  what  you  have  ro  say.  You  asked  me  a 
moment  ago  who  I  was — J  don't  really  think  you  ever  needed 
to  ask  that  (piestion." 

"You  an-  itobert  T.isle,  the  yeoman's  son,  who  twenty  years 
ago  Inveighed  a  sim[)l(?  girl  into  a  sham  marriage,  you  ab- 
sconded with  her  unde's  nuuiey  and  jewels,  and  afterward 
tied  to  America  to  escape  transportation.  You  perceive  I 
know  yon  well." 

"I  thought  so.  For  (lie  sham  marriage,  as  you  call  it,  it  is 
a  marriage  that  <»ur  English  law  holds  binding.  ^'<»u.  Sir 
Vane  Charteris.  are  a  bigamist  with  intent.  Olivia  Lisle 
never,  fxir  one  instant  was  your  wife.  You  saw  me  in  chun-h 
on  the  morning  of  that  mockery  of  marriage.  IIov;  will  you 
answer  to  a  Kritish  jury  for  that  ^  WlicTi  Oliv-ia  discov(U"e(' 
I  was  n^ive,  you  shut  her  up  in  a  madhou-^e  t'or  six  yt>ars — 
how  will  you  answer  a  jury  for  that  {  As  to  tlie  other  alxurd 
i-harge  you  speak  of,  1  was  a  fool — the  greatest  of  ftxds,  ever 
to  let  tliat  bugbeai-  alarm  me.  Xeiiher  you  now,  nor  (JeofT- 
rey  Lyndith,  if  he  wer(>  alive,  »  niild  support  that  trumped-up 
accusation.  For  the  rest,  I  have  work»  tl  as  you  did,  in  the 
dark  —I  have  found  my  wife,  ami  1  mean  to  keep  her.  Tho 
law  shall  ju«lge  between  u-  of  the  legality-  <d'  the  fir-t  and 
second  marriages.  You  are  free  to  act  as  yoii  please,  in  all 
respects,  save  intruding  here— yonder  is  the  door — go — and 
never  dare  to  degrade  this  house  by  your  presence  ag.iin, 
unless  you  wish  mejo  take  the  law  in  my  own  hands.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  Judge  Lynch,  Sir  Vane^  I  conu-  from  a 
land  where  he  ia  well  known.    If  you  ever  «ro«»  yonder 


-H 


li 


254 


'Paulina  to  Alice. 


•f 


thrcsliold  again,  I'll   straii^le    ,011  as^  I  woulfl  a  snake  that 


CI'MW 


Ird 


atToss 


sy  I' 


iith.     X 


ow 


Will  you  wait  one  nionu  iit  ?"  said  n  voice  in  the  doorway. 
l>oth  men  tiiiiujd  round.     All  this  time  the  house  dour  lia<l 
stood  open,  and  a  third  person,  quitv^  unlooked  for,  had  wii- 


ness^H 


1  thf 


^  interview, 


J.ord  IVIontalien  had  sjient  the  past  two  years  traveling  for 
his  health,  lie  was  passing  the  J-ondon  season  in  the  eouii- 
try  now,  for  the  same  reason — a  chronic  affection  of  the 
heart.  Strollinci:  by,  taking  his  usual  afternoon  exercise,  ho 
had  es])ied  the  two  Hies  from  the  railway  at  Duke  Mason's 
jfHte.  ile  saw  the  house  door  open — it  might  be  Paulin?i; 
curiosity  proni{)ted  him  to  approach.  lie  saw  Sir  Vane 
Charteris,  guessed  in  au  instant  who  his  companion  must  be, 
and  heard  every  word  of  Robert  Liale's  speech.  At  last  thi' 
hour  of  his  revenge  had  come,  at  last  he  could  pay  off  thiit 
debt  now  six  years  old. 

"Excuse  me,"  his  lordship  said,  blandly,  coming  slowly  in, 
"if  1  have  inadvertently  heard  every  word — Sir  Vane  Char- 
teris,  I  am  exceedi'igly  ha}>py  to  see  you  on  the  present  oc- 
casion; you,  sir,"  turning  with  a  bow  to  the  other,  "^ire,  1 
presume,  Mr.  Robert  ]Jsle." 

"I  am,  sir,"  was  the  stem  response ;  "who  are  you  ?" 

"Lord  Montalien,  very  much  at  your  service,  and  disposed, 
like  my  father  before  me,  to  do  you  a  good  turn.  X  owe  Sir 
Vine  here  a  little  grudge,  and  am  inclin(Hl  to  wipe  it  off. 
Have  you  any  recollection  in  your  past  life  of  a  man  namerl 
James  Porter^" 

Th  American  officer  looked  bewildered,  and  Sir  Vane 
stood  with  bent,  black  brows,  and  sullen  ferocity,  waiting  for 
the  <'nd!  d 

"He  was  valet,  five-and-twenty  years  ago,  to  Geoffrey  Lyn- 
dith — perhaps  that- will  aid  your  memory." 

"I  recollect,"  Lisle  said,  brusquely;  "what  of  him?" 

"Only  that  he  is  dead;  and  upon  his  deathbed  made  a-depo- 
sition  which  I  took  down,  and  have  in  my  possession  at  pres- 
ent, duly  witnessed.  In  that  confession  he  gives  the  whole 
nefarious  plot  by  which  you  were  driven  out  of  England.  It 
clears  you  in  every  respect.  If  you  will  do  me  the  honor  to 
call  at  the  Priory  this  eveniiig,  I  shall  be  happy  to  plae( 
the  document  in  your  hands." 

Ile  looked  with  a  diabolical  smile  at  the  baronet.  Sir 
Vane,  livid  with  f  \ir  and  fury,  moved  toward  the  door. 

''Robert  Lisle  shall  answer  for  his  abduction  and  retention 
of  my  wife,"  he  said,  trying  bravado  ,0  the  last;  "for  you  and 
your  miserable  documents.  Lord  Mwutalien,  I  care  nothing. 
The  law  shall  i'»:dge  between  ua."' 


"A 


:-«-^*< 


"Paulina  to  Alice.- 


as5 


"The  law  shall,"  Lislp  snid,  Travely.  "I  thank  roiir  lord- 
ship for  this  tmexpccted  fav(.r.  My  ^ood  name  shouhl  have 
been  cleared  by  my  ovvii  efforts;  but  the  conforfsion  of  Porter 
simY)lifios  all  that.     I  will  call  this  cvcniuu:  at  the  Priory." 

Lord  Montalion  bowed,  and  turned  to  go. 

"Perhaps  you  will  be  good  enouj^h  to  mention  this  fact  to 
y<  iir  daug'hter,"  he  said,  "t  wisjied  to  make  her  my  wife 
some  years  ago,  and  I  am  afraid  f^he  has  never  forgiven  me 
for  it.  She  may  be  induced  to  think  somewhat  lessMinrdly  of 
me  when  she  learns  this.  May  1  also  a^k  one  question — did 
my  brother  return  with  vou  f 

"He  did." 

"He  is  at  present  in  London  f" 

"He  is." 

"A  successful  author — (juite  able  to  meet  all  his  little 
liabilities  r 

Lisle    nodded — somewhat    inipnti^ently. 

"Thanks,"  Lord  Montalien  'aid;  "I  shall  not  detain  you 
any  long(>r.  Permit  me  to  congratulate  you  upon  the  recov- 
ery of  your  wife  and  daughter,  and  to  wish  you  every  hai)pi- 
ness  in  the  future." 

He  left  the  house.  The  smile  faded  from  his  lips,  his  sal- 
low, worn  face  darkened  an-i  grew,  bitter,  with  hate  and 
malignity. 

"All  my  i)lotting  has  been  in  vain,  then,"  he  thought. 
"Guy  has  returned — thf?  past  wiped  out  and  forgotten — rich, 
famous,  handsomer  than  ever,  no  doubt.  And  she  always 
liked  him — always — 1  know  it,  and  will  marry  him  now. 
Why  did  she  break  off  with  Heatherland  if  not  for  love  of 
liim?  And  one  day  this  accursed  heart  disease  will  carry  mo 
off,  and  he  will  reign  in  my  stead  at  Montalien." 

His  face  was  black  with  impotent  hatred  and  rage.  All 
had  g07ie  against  him.  The  only  woman  he  had  ever  wanted 
to  marry  had  rtd'used  him — he  had  speculated  largely  and 
invariably  lost.  Ill  health  had  overtaken  him — at  thirty-three 
he  was  an  <^)ld,  disappoinled,  soured  man.  He  had  grown 
nervous  with  illness,  and  in  the  dark  dead  night,  the  white 
face  of  Alice  Warren  ro<e  to  haunt  him  and  drive  sleep  from 
his  pillow.  vShe  lay  unburied  and  unavenged,  but  retribution 
more  dire  than  anV  an  ear*hly  tribunal  could  intiict  had  come 
home  to  h(^r  murderer. 

Kobert  Lisle  watched  his  retreating  form  from  view,  and 
then  ascended  the  stairs.  His  wiTe  had  recovered  from  her 
swoon,  and  lay  he]i)less  and  tn-nibling  on  the  couch  wh«  re 
they  had  placed  her.  Roi)eri  alive!  Kobert  back!  After 
four-and-twenty  years  of  endless,  intinite  misery,  Robert  was 
to  be  hcFft  again.    The  others  rose  as  he  eatored*    Fanllna 


A 


llliliii 


"^ 


256 


''Paulina  to  Alice. 


»» 


etooped   and    kissed    thv   wan,    startled    Wn'.v,   nud    tlie   !oiig- 
Bovcrc'd  husband  and  wife  were  loj4:('ihcr -ouc(^  inor(\ 

J'roceedin^s  were  itnniediau'ly  institiifc^l  to  prove  (ho 
validity  of  tlu;  fi;st,  liie  invalidity  of  the  se'-ond  niarriaj^o 
1'here  was  little  ditticulty  in  iloin^  so.  Itohert  J. isle's  Scot<'li 
marriage  was  ns  bindini;  as  though  tlx*  Archhishoi)  of  (Pinter- 
bury  lijid  pronounced  the  benediction.  The  second  niarriagv 
was  a  farc(\  The  suit  and  its  results  produced  tho  pro- 
foundest  sensation.  Kvery  day  new  and  interesting?  revela 
tions  came  out  about  Miss  Lisle,  Xow  the  myster.v  of  her 
l»irth  way  cleared  up.  She  was  not  an  orjihan,  as  half  I.^mi- 
don  had  supposed,  and  on  the  mother's  sid«\  at  least,  her 
descent  was  irreproaehable.  And  Sir  Vane  ("harteris  wn?i  fi 
villain,  who  liad  lied  l<<  the  Continent  to  bury  himself  and 
his  di^>{.',rac<»  out   r»f  siuht. 

Mrs.  Gilbraith  and  Maud  had  become  socially  extinct  down 
at  Essex,  And  Miss  Lisle  and  hei*  ronnmtic  fatluM*  and 
mother  held  tJiemselvcs  sedidously  aloof  fr<Hn  wonderiufr  niet 
ropolitan  society  down  in  some  cottage  in  i^incolnshii'c,  wIkm-c 
she  l^ad  been  broug:ht  up.  What  a  nnnanec  it  was — r(iinil  to 
any  of  Mr.  Earlscourl's  charminf;-  plots! 

Inunediately  the  suit  was  ended,  Mr.  Lisle  and  his  wife  (he 
iiad  discarded  tl^e  name  of.  Uhwksley)  were  goin^  abroad. 
Mrs.  Lisle's  nervous  system  had  been  utterly  shattered — years 
must  j)ass  of  peace,  of  change,  of  hajipiness  before  she  be- 
came fully  herself  a^ain.  She  j^rew  pale  and  territie<l  wheii 
Kobert  left  her  side — she  Hew  to  him  trembling  and  pant- 
ing when  he  returned.  She  lived  in  constant  dread  oi  some- 
t'ling  tearing  her  f n  m  him  again — she  shrank  from  stran- 
gers as  only  nervous  people  can  shrink.  The  sooner  she  was 
taken  abroad,  away  from  the  scene  of  her  troubles,  the  better. 
It  was  evident,  too,  Paulina  needed  change.  In  those  three 
weeks  of  waiting  she  had  grown  thin  and  pale  as  a  shadow. 
All  her  old  joyousness  had  left  her,  she  wandered  silent  and 
.spiritless  about  the  old  familiar  haunts.  Lord  Montalieu 
never  troubled  her  solitary  rand)los  now.  The  fricMids  who 
loved  her  so  well  lookid  at  her  in  wonder — it  was  so  unlik*^ 
Paulina — this  pale,  silenl,  noiseless  bhadow — whose  smile  was 
as  cold  and  fleeting  as  moonlight  on  sllow.  Her  friiMid,  Mrs. 
Atcherly,  ran  down  once  in  a  whilh  to  see  her  old  favorite, 
and  retail  for  her  benefit  the  town  gossip.  Auiong  Ihm 
budget.  Mr.  Karlscourt  had  a  new  work  in  press,  and  was 
engaged  to  be  married,  m>  evervbod.v  said,  to  the  Lady  Edith 
Clive. 

Paulim\    turned   her   pale   face   far  away   as  she   listenec' 
Mrs.   Atcherly  rattled  on: 

"The  Lady  Edith  makes  no  secret  of  her  preference,  and  i» 


"  Paulina  to  Mice." 


257 


is  certainly  at  Daiitar  House  perpetually.  But,  do  you  know, 
Paulina,  1  don't  bcaeve  Guy's  a  Uit  in  love  with  hvv,  in  spito 
of  her  beauty.  1^  he  marries  her  it  will  he  heeau-^e  she  i^ 
the  riehest  heiress  of  the  day  and  an  earl's  daughter.  I  some- 
times fancy  ho  has  left  his  heart  heliind  him  in  Amt^riea, 
amonf?  those  lovely  American  women  he  talks  of  so  much. 
He  says  American  ladies  are  all  pretty — al)solut(iv  without 
exception — that  a  plain  girl  in  the  streets  of  New  York  is  as 
rare  as  a  black  swan.  The  world  says  he  and  Ljuly  Kdith  will 
be  married  for  certain  nex'^  spring." 

And  then  Mrs.  Atcherly  departeti;  and  I  greatly  doubt 
whether  Miss  Lisle's  health  or  spirits  were  at  all  improved  by 
her  lively  conversation.  She  longed  with  feverish,  hidden 
impatience  for  the  day  of  their  departure  to  come.  When 
Kngland  was  left  far  behind  she  would  be  bet'  r.  she  thought. 
A  fever  Hush  came  into  her  cheeks  sometimes,  her  lips  I«M)ked 
dry  and  parched — her  glorious  dower  of  perfect  health,  that 
for  four-and-twenty  years  had  never  failed  lu>r,  v. as  rapidly 
failing  her  nov  'J'hey  spoke  of  physicians,  and  she  laughed 
at  them — she  W(uld  be  (luite  well  agnin,  she  said,  when  they 
started  on  their  travels — it  was  England  and  the  hot  .lunc 
weather  that  disagreed  with  her. 

The  last  day  came.     Everything  was  seftle<i — Air.   Lisle's 
peryetual  flying  up  and  down  by  express  trains  between  Lon 
don  and  Lincoliis'hire  was  at  an  end.     His  legal  business  was 
satisfactorily  over.    On  to-morrow  morning  they  would  -tart 
direct  for  Paris,  'iiaking  no  delay  in  London. 

A  gentleman  accompanied  Mr.  Lisle  from  town  on  this  last 
occasion — a  gentleman,  who,  at  his  esj^eoial  reqittmr,  IkkI  run 
down  to  see  his  wi"'*e. 

"Where  is  Pauli  la !"  her  father  asked. 
'  Paulina  was  ou<,  as  usual,  on  one  of  her  daily  aimless  ram- 
bles. It  was  a  murky  sort  of  day,  with  a  light,  damp  fog 
cLnging  to  ever.'?  thing — a  dark,  gray  sky,  lying  low  over  a 
bleak,  wet  earth.  It  was  no  weather  for  any  one  in  delieate 
healt)-  K.  be  abr  )a(l — 1>  t  Paulin/>  neither  felt  nor  eared  for 
the  drtiUi).  It  :  uited  ner,  this ',,'loomy  evening — it  seemed 
somehow  like  he 'cold,  ,';ray  life.  The  last,  lingesing  shadows 
of  the  dark  da.V  were  departing  >is  she  cmuc  si  )wly  ln'me- 
ward.  In  bod,/  and  mind,  heart  and  brain,  she  wr  ;  tir.-d  tuir, 
as  she  drew  ne  ir — her  face  pal(>r  th.an  u->ua\,  her  lar^if  eyes 
haggard  and  Kuiken.  A  man's  tall  tigun  leaned  i'  litly 
against  one  ol  the  gate  posts  as  .-.he  drew  near.  Her  heart 
g-ave  a  great  bc^und,  and  then  seemed  to  ee  ise  its  beating  alt*^- 
geth'-r,     'So  need  '.o  look  twice  to  recognize  (iuy  Earlscourt. 

lie  jaw  hor  and  opeued  the  gate.    Without  lifting  her  eyea 


i 
(  I 


■I 


^ 


158 


"  Paulina  to  Alice. 


99 


,to  his  face,  'without  speaking,  she  bowtxl,  ana  would  have 
|)asbc(l  on,  but  be  stopped  her. 

"Not  one  word,  Paulina?"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice  of  re- 
pi  oycli ;  aiid  it  is  the  l.'iHt  time  w©  may  ever  meet.  For 
the  sake  of  eight  years  ago,  when  we  wore  friends,  when  little 
'Polly'  did  not  hate  me,  say  good-by !" 

lie  held  out  his  hand.  Her  heart  smote  her — she  stopped 
('(ijii'usrdl.v — giiinced  up  once  into  the  dark,  reproach+'ul  eyes, 
half  turned  away. 

II.'iic  iiint!  In  that  moment  she  knew,  as  she  had  never 
kn<)\\ii  U't'ore,  that  stH3  lovet'  him.  with  a  paG.-.iouate,  death- 
leys  love,  that  would  remain  with  ner  to  her  life's  end. 

She  ^ave  him  her  cold  fingei-s.  IIIl-  hand  closed  over  them 
—  wanii,  strong  and  firm;  his  eyes  were  reading  her  pale, 
Bv«i-ted  face. 

"You — you  eame  to  say  farewell  to  my  mother,"  she  fal- 
tered. 

"And  to  you,  Paulina — I  may  call  you  so,  may  1  not  ^  It 
ifi  for  tlio  last  time.  I,  too,  leave  England  in  a  few  days,  and 
forever." 

"Forever f"  she  echoed.  A  cold  hand  seemed  to  clutch 
hi'V  henrt — was  Mrs.  Atcherly  right,  after  all,  in  her  surmise? 
Hlv'.  (how  4ier  hand  suddenly  and  forcibly  from  his  grasp- 

"1  shall  return  to  America,"  he  said,  quietly,  "and  tJiere 
pass  my  life.  As  soon  as  my  new  book  appears,  I  leave.  You 
will  be  abroad  then,  and  I  could  not  go  without  saying  good- 
by,  and  asking  you  to  forgive  me." 

"Forgive  you!     For  what?" 

"For  letting  you  sacrifice  your  life,"  he  said,  firmly,,  "six 
years  ago.  I  see  clearly  now  that  I  should  have  saved  you, 
but  not  in  that  way.  You  were  mad  that  night — driven  wild 
by  their  persecution,  the  fear  of  imprisonment,  and  a  mar- 
riage with  Francis.  The  play  had  excited  you — you  scarcely 
knew  what  you  were  doing,  but  I  was  sane  enough,  and  I 
have  never  forgiven  myself,  in  all  these  years,  for  taking  ad- 
vantage of  your  helplessness  and  terrors  and  making  you  my 
wife.  You  loved  the  Marquis  of  Ileatherland,  and  he  de- 
served it  as  few  men  do,  and  it  holds  you  apart.  You  hate 
me,  you  have  not  tried  to  conceal  it,  and,  I  dare  say,  I  de- 
serve it.  But  I  shall  not  banish  you  from  England — my 
prc.Liice  here  shall  be  no  barrier  to  your  return.  Farewell, 
once  more,  and  try  to  forgive  me  if  you  can  when  I  ara 
gone." 

lie  lifted  his  hat,  she  heard  the  gate  open  and  shut,  heard 
tbe  light,  fiiTu  fall  of  his  footstep  on  the  road  growing  faintwr 
And  fainter.    Tli«  soft  euminer  rain  was  falling  and  wetting 


«< 


mai 


advj 
Wal 

SI 

advj 
I  si 

sl 

chi 


..t  a  •.—  «.-- 


<( 


Paulina  to  Alice." 


259 


her  tlu'ough — lights  twiiikl«Hl  in  the  cottage  windows,  and 
Chiy  was  gone-  -lurovorl 

"Paulina!''  her  father's  voice  called  froilti  tiie  doorway, 
"conu;  ill  I     Do  you  not  know  it  is  raiiiiiigr' 

She  wa3  standi ii^jt  where  (Juy  had  left  her,  motionless.  Sin* 
atarted  up  now,  staggered  dizzily,  and  grasped  something 
for  support.  The  next  uioinent  her  father's  strong  arm  en- 
circled her. 

,"Vou  will  get  your  death"  he  said;  "you  look  like  death 
now.     Did  you  see  Karkcourt?"' 

"Yes."  The  word  dropjied  heavily  and  slowly  from  her 
lil*H.     "He  lias  gone." 

He  looke<l  "at  her  keenlj.  But  even  in  that  hour,  when  a 
pain  bitterer  than  death  was  piercing  her  heart,  her  pride 
upheld  her.  The  cold,  set  look  that  had  grown  habitual  of 
late  !ind  warded  off  all  questioning,  came  over  her  pale, 
proud  lace.  Her  step  grew  iirm;  she  entered  the  house,  and 
iione  present  saw  anything  more  than  usual  in  her  look. 

Tea  was  ready — Kosanna's  best  cream  cakes,  and  fruit  pies, 
and  whitest  rolls,  in  honor  of  the  occasion.  As  they  gathered 
round  the  bright  little  lamplit  table,  a  loud  knock  came  t<) 
tiie  door.  • 

"Who  is  thisT'  said  Duke'.  "I  thought  Air.  (iuy  was  our 
last  visitor." 

He  opened  the  door,  and  saw  a  middle-aged,  sailor-like 
man,  a  total  stranger,  standing  there  in  the  rain. 

"Does  Miss  Paulina  Lisle  live  here?"  asked  this  nautical 
visitor. 

Duke  nodded. 

"And  what  may  you  want  of  Miss  Lis!**,  my  seafaring 
friend?"  he  asked. 

Paulina  heard  and  approached  the  door,  looking  at  the  sea- 
man in  profound  surprise. 

"You  want  me??  ??he  inquired. 

The  sailoi*  pulled  off  his  hat  and  scraped  a  nautical  bow. 

"I  do,  misB,  if  so  be  you  are  the  Miss  Paulina  Lisle  what 
advertised  In  the  Times,  six  years  ago,  about  a  Miss  Alice 
Warren,  missing.  You  offered  a  reward,  you  reck-lect,  for 
news  of  her,  dead  or  alive." 

She  gave  a  low  cry,  reached  out,  and  drew  the  speaker  in. 

"Come  this  way!"  she  cried.  "T  am  the  Paulina  Lisle  who 
advertised,  and  I  am  still  re<uly  to  give  the  reward.  At  last 
I  sliall  hear  of  Alice." 

She  drew  him  into  the  kitchen — deserted  now — place<l  a 
chair  for  him,  and  stood  herself,  breathless,  expectant. 

^What  do  ^ou  know  of  iierl"  Bhe  excUimed.    ^'She  wia 


'•r 


■)■■■ 


26o 


*  r*aiilina  to  Alice.'' 


tny  dpfirrst  frieiifl,  ni.«l  1   linvo  iipvor  hoard  ft  word  of  hei 
fciiicr   iliat    time.      Is  she  ulivc;  nr  dciid  f" 

"Dciid,  miss!*'  tlin  sailor  said,  solonndy.     "MurdorodI" 
'    She  clasped  her  hands  mid  sta/^'^p:ered  hack.  » 

"Murdered!"     She  whisjx'rcd  tlie  word  with  aslieii  lips. 

"Look  here,  miss,"  the  man  said;  and  after  fumhlin^'a 
moment,  produced  from  an  inner  pocket  a  little  TJarcel  rolled 
in  nuHiy  i)apers.  He  undid  those  sh»wly,  one  i:)y  on'^  and 
something  golden  glittered  in  the  light.'  He  handed  it  to  her. 
It  was  a  locket  and  chain.  She  gave  a  second  low  cry;  she 
recognized  it  at  once.  It  had  heen  ber  narting  gift  to  Alice 
ere  her  (^  parture  for  the  F  'ch  hool.  -She  touched  the 
spring — it  ilew  open — tliere  w  h*.*'  own  picture,  and  a  ring- 
let of  her  golden  hair,  and  on  ihn  r  ,'erse  side  this  inscrip- 
tion :  "Paulimi  to  Alice— 18()0.'- 

"You  know  that  ere  locket,  miss?"  the  sailor  said.  "Yes, 
I  see  you  do.  Well,  I  have  had  that  these  seven  years  come 
Christmas  Eve.  On  Christmas  Eve,  1862,  the  young  woman 
what  wore  that  locket  was  foully  murdered,  and  her  body  lies 
a-hleaching,  for  what  I  know,  in  the  same  spot  still." 

She  mastered  her  emotion  hy  a  powerful  effort.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  had  grown  sick  and  faint,  and  had  been  obliged  to 
sit  down.     It  passed  away,  and  the  white  lips  spoke: 

"Will  you  tell  lue  all  ?  If  this  locket  and  these  dreadful 
facts  have  been  in;  your  possession  for  six  years,  how  is  it 
you  only  reveal  them  now  ?" 

"Well,  miss,  I  did  wrong,  f  suppose — I  ought  to  have  made 
a  clean  breast  of  it  there  and  then,  but,  you  see,  I  went  to 
sea,  and  once  before,  out  in  Bermuda,  I  got  into  a  scrape  by 
finding  a  body  that  way,  and  nearly  got  lagged  for  a  murder 
1  didn't  do.  I  don't  know  that  I'd  have  told  now,  but  it 
kind  of  haunted  me  like,  and  gave  me  no  rest;  so  for  the 
])ast  two  months  I've  been  a-trying  to  find  you  out.  A  pre- 
cious deal  of  trouble  it's  been,  I  can  tell  yop.  This  here's  the 
way  I  came  by  that  locket." 

And  then  the  sailor  told  his  story,  Paulina  lisjtening,  white 
an.d  still. 

"My  name's  Bill  Saunders,  miss,  which  T  was  christened 
William  James,  and  T  follows  the  sea  for  a  livin',  as  you 
n)ay  see  for  yourself.  I'd  been  away  on  a  year's  voyage,  and 
when  I  got  home  I  started  from  Liverpool  to  see  my  old 
mother,  livin'  at  that  time  at  Battersea-way.  I  stayed  with 
the  old  woman  nigh  upon  seven  weeks,  coming  up  to  London 
off  and  mi,  and  sig-ning  article?  Christmas  week  to  sail  for 
(^hina  in  the  Golden  Pagodh,  on  a  three  years'  cruise.  Tlie 
Golden'  Pagoda,  was  to  sail  down  the  Thames  about  noon, 
Christmas  Eve,  and,  bright  and  early  in  the  morning,  I  slung 


C( 


Paulina  to  Alice. 


»» 


26! 


my  buiidlo  over  my  slioirKIor,  liid  the  old  iiiMtlior  ^ood-hy,  aiid 
started  nt'oot  for   London. 

"It  \v;is  a  tariial  stormy  inoriiinp:,  mis^,  nxin'  your  pardon 
for  swearing,  a-snowiu'  aii<|  a-lilowiiT  liUe  jis  if  it  was  ('aiiad:i 
instead  of  old  lOii^land.  I  was  used  to  snowstorms,  though, 
and  trudged  along-,  never  nilndin',  tliough  aloiif^  the  waste 
fields,  iJiid  marslus,  and  old  hriekyaids  it  hiew  lit  to  take 
your  head  off.  It  wasn't  the  sort  <tf  inornin'  nor  the  time 
of  day  you  would  look  to  see  any  one  out  a-(h'iviir,  and  so 
when  I  see  a  horse  and  wagon  a-eomin'  furious  in  the  other 
direetion  1  stood  still  Ix^hind  a  pile  of  ruhhish,  and  made  a 
teleseope  of  my  fist,  and  looked  hard  to  see  what  tlie  parties 
was  like. 

"They  was  a  man  and  a  woman — I  eould  just  make  out 
that,  and  no  more;  hoth  was  30  muttied  up  and  so  white  with 
snow.  While  I  looked,  the  wa^on  stoi»i)ed  sudden  likt».  the 
man  jumped  out  and  help<'d  the  woman  after.  'I'his  was  an 
other  move  I  did  not  expeet  in  sueh  a  i)laee  and  in  sueh  u 
storm. 

"'Something  wrong-  with  the  turnout,'  I  says  to  n»ys*'i, 
and  keeps  well  out  o'  sigrht  and  waits  to  see.  Th(»  man  IowKi  d 
all  about,  and  then  takes  the  womiTii  round  an  old  pile  e 
broken  brieks  that  hid  them  from  sight.  A  minute  af  ' — 
it  eould  not  have  Invn  more — I  hears  the  r(»port  of  a  |)i  .0  ; 
and  then  I  knew  for  sartin  what  I  had  suspeeti  ( ■  when  the 
man  first  got  out,  that  Un\\  play  was  going-  on,  aiid  that  I'd 
better  keep  still  if  I  didn't  want  a  seeond  pistol  hall  through 
my  own  skull. 

"I  waited  about  two  minutes.  IMind  well.  1  pulU'<l  (,ut 
my  wateh,  and  looked  to  see  the  time,  afeared  T  might  be  late 
for  the  sailin'  of  the  (loldcn  P'lf/oda.  It  wanted  just  twenty 
minutes  o'  nine.  T  ean  swear  to  the  v(>ry  mitnite,  for  she's  a 
good  one  to  keep  tin.e,  she  is.  .As  I  put  the  wateh  back,  \ 
sees  my  cove  a-eomin'  round  the  heap  o'  brieks,  and  taking  a 
second  look  in  every  direction.  If  1  kejjt  out  o'  sight  afore, 
you  may  be  sartin  1  was  inwisa!>le  now.  He  lor.ked  at  his 
watch,  then  jump.ed  into  his  trap,  and  drove  awa.v  as  if  o!<l 
Nick  (savin'  your  presence,  miss)  was  scuddin'  after  him. 

"T  waited  there  until  he  was  clear  out  of  sight,  then  T 
made  for  the  spot.  Ahind  the  i)ile  <•'  rubbish  was  a  sort 
of  hole,  like  a  little  cave,  made,  maybe,  to  hold  tools,  and 
that,  when  the  brick  fields  was  in  use,  and  into  this  the  botly 
had  been  dragrged.  lie  1;nd  piled  uj*  in  a  hurry  agin  the  en- 
trance a  heaj)  o'  ]no>o  brick,  and  stone>,  and  wood.  Y(.u 
migrht  pass  the  sf)ot  scores  o'  times  an»l  never  take  notice. 
There  was  some  blood  ui)on  the  snow,  but  not  mugh,  and  the 
mark  of  where  he  had  dragged  her  in;  and  away  insido  I 


.1^,, 


1     >, 


tl 


m 


•  ^*.-.-.  »  • 


262 


•'  Paulina  to  Ance." 


could  see,  when  I  took  down  the  piled  up  rubbish,  i  nomaD't 
iit^ure  lying  on  its  face. 

"Well,  inies,"  the  sailor  went  on,  ehiftinK  away  unensily 
frohi  the  gaze  of  the  large,  horror-Htruck  eyes,  "nui.vhe  I  did 
wrong,  but  1  piiwl  up  the  stuff  agin  as  I  found  it,  and  made 
uj)  my  mind  to  say  nothin'  of  what  I'd  heard  and  seen.  Out 
in  lierniuda,  as  1  said  afore,  I  nearly  got  lagg(Kl  for  life, 
getting  accused  of  a  murder  1  didn't  do.  A  burned  child, 
they  say,  dreads  the  fire — it  was  no  business  o'  mine;  I 
wouhi  just  go  off  in  the  Ooldim  Pagoda,  I  thought,  and  lf«t 
tiic  .young  woman's  friends  and  the  London  police  find  her 
at  their  leisure. 

"I  was  turning  to  go  away — it  was  nine  now,  and  I  l;  .d 
no  time  t(;  spare — when-  somethin'  a-ahinin'  in  the  snow 
caught  my  eye.  I  stcoi)cd  and  picked  it  up.  It  Wiis  that 
there  l(»(;ket,  miss,  bent  a  little,  as  you  see,  where  it  had  been 
tramped  on,  and  the  little  chain  broke  off  short,  as  if  it  had 
be<^n  dragged  from  her  neck.  I  put  it  in  my  pocket  and 
tram|)ed  nway  to  London.  That  a/temoon  the  Golden  Pa- 
goda sail(id,  and  me  in  her,  and  I've  never  set  foot  in  Eng- 
land since,  until  three  weeks  ago. 

"Hut  I  couldn't  forget  what  I  saw  that  Christmas  Kve 
mors  ling — 1  couldn't  forget  it,  miss.  In  my  watch  on  deck  o' 
nights  that  there  young  woman  used  to  come  afore  me.  and 
]  could  see  her  again  lyin'  dead  on  her  faex3  in  tliat  disiiial 
S{)ot,  wliere  nobody  might  ever  find  her.  I  couldn't  forget 
it,  and  at  hist  when  I  sailed  from  Canton  for  England.  I 
made  up  my  mind,  come  what  would,  I'd  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it  and  tell  the  whole  story. 

''T  was  >;itting  in  a  coffeehouse  in  Liveri><)ol  the  night  T 
landed,  thinking  how  I  had  better  begin  the  busiiiess,  when  I 
came  across  an  old  London  i)aper,  six  years  old,  and  th<'io, 
as  if  Providence  had  put  it  in  my  way,  the  very  first  thing 
my  two  eyes  lit  on  was  the  advertisement  offering  a  reward 
for  any  news  of  one  Alice  Wairen,  misring  or  dead.  Now, 
on  the  locket  I'd  seen  them  words  i)rinted,  'Paulina  to  Ai:ce 
--18(50,'  and  this  here  missing  woman  was  an  Aliec,  too. 
That  Vas  all  I  had  to  go  by.  Any  news  was  to  be  brouj:(it 
to  a  law  firm  in  London.  I  started  for  London  next  morn- 
ing, and  found  out,  after  a  sight  of  trouble,  the  law  firm.  I 
showed  'em  that  advertisement.  T  axed  'em  who  put  it  in. 
They  couldn't  give  me  a  })lain  answer — they  badgered  raid 
botliered,  -MMd  said  1  ^^h^,  to  tell  thpm  anything  I  kuf  n .  T 
said  I'd  hf'  Mowed  if  I  iJid!  'hat  brought  then)  to  tlrr 
bearings,  and  they  said  it  was  n  client  of  theirs,  a  young 
lady.  Miss  Paulina  Lisle.  When  I  heard  that  name.  'Paul- 
ina/ I  knew  I  was  on  the  right  track.    I  axed  'em  h  they'd 


"Paulina  to  Alice." 


26) 


•rer  fouiul  this  nero  Alicu  Warren,  and  they  atiid  no;  nothiii' 
had  fvor  bo<Mi  heard  or  s(  en  ol"  her  iron*  that  (hiy  io  thw. 
'ilien  I  told  them  I  wanted  to  see  Miss  Paulina  Lisle;  that 
I'd  -oiiuthinjy;  to  say  to  her  ahout  this  lure  husinj  ss  .she 
inifjiu  like,  to  know;  and  at  last,  utter  a  <leal  o'  fns.-^in',  they 
Kave  inc  tlie  direetions  Lure.  Here  I  eaine;  and  there.  nii>w, 
i»  tho  whf»le  sjlory.  Aliee  Warren  was  murdered  on  Clirisl- 
iTi  IS  live,  ISd-J,  and  her  hones  lii-s  a-nmlderin'  to  this  day,  Tor 
what  1  know,  in    that  hole  o!i   Baftersea  Connnon." 

The  sailor  liad  finish(Ml  his  story.  I*aulina  sat  perf(:<.'tl^ 
ri^id.  with  dilated  eyes,  listonin^  to  ov(M\y  word.  She  spoke 
now; 

".\n(l  the  man  who  murdered  her — tell  me  what  he  was 
like." 

'•J  didu'fc  see  liis  face,  miss;  he  was  thai  muiiityj  up  with 
^a  great  iicarf,j^isted  round  th(i  lower  part  of  his  face,  and 
a  fur  cap,  wiln  a  peak  pulled  over  his  nose.  He  was  tall 
and  slim  like;  he  'voro  a  rouj^li-lookinj^  ^nvateoat,  and  I  took 
him  to  he  a  gentleman.  Rut  I  s^houldn't  know  him  Hguin  if 
I  ^aw  hinj." 

"Tall  aiid  .slim,  and  lik(^  a  gentleman."  Paulina's  thou^-hts 
were  of  Tord  Montalien.  lie  was  tall  and  slim  and  gentle- 
manly, hut  deeply,  strongly  as  sh(»  felt  on  this  suhjeet.  sho 
was  too  just  to  make  any  rash  aeeusations  in  so  supreme  an 
hour. 

She  rose  Uf»  with  an  effort  that  was  ahnost  painful.  She 
knew  tho  trutii  at  la>t.  Alice  had  Ix'cn  murdered  l-^'-efi tie, 
lovinjj:  Aliee! — and  for  six  long'  years  hud  lain  unhuried  and 
unavenged.  She  felt  f;iddy  and  si<-k,  as  she  stood  up,  and  it 
was  a  moment  hefore  she  e<<uld  speak. 

"I  will  call  my  father,"  she  said.  ''Do  you  wait  here.  You 
must  repeat  your  story  to  hinj.  Something  must  he  done, 
and  at  once  I" 

She  opened  the  ?sitt ing-room  door,  and  sununonod  both  lier 
father  and  Duke. 

The    two    men    looiu-d    al    her    in    alarm — at    her    awfully  * 
cori)se-lIk<i  face. 

"Paulina,  my  dearest,  vvluit  is  the  matter?"  exclaimed  Rob- 
ert Lisle.  "What  has  this  maii  been  telling  you?  Your 
friend  is " 

"Murdered,  father^ — foully  murdered,  six  years  ago — lyin^ 
unburi(^d  and  unavenged!  Think  of  that!  Thi.s  uum  will 
repeat  to  you  what  he  has  said  to  nt(> — the  horrible  story  of  a 
horrible  murder."  • 

"Too  horrible  for  your  ears,  my  poor,  overwrought  (^ild. 
You  look  fit  to  die  this  moment.  For  pity's  sake,  go  and  lio 
down !    Keraember-  you  start  upon  a  ymnuaw  Un^moscromp  and 


^r 


264 


••Paulina  to  Alice." 


•k-l)0(l  than      Itrif^thy 


just  iK.w  you  npiM'iir  more  fittc*!  f<»r  i\  sirl 
jonrrify.     (lo  to  .voiir  motlicr,  INiuliiia." 

lie  kissi'd  tlx'  «If'Mtlilik«'  fat'c  triulfrly  antl  led  Ikp  fr''Vn 
llic  r(M»iii.  Slir  <i|,('.\;'«l  wifli  wi-ary  pat iciUM'.  Was  HiU'  ill^  A 
<liill,  iiravy  pain  tlir(»l)l.r<l  in  lidth  tcniplcri;  hor  forclwad 
HrnnrMl  rncirclcd  with  an  iron  hand;  a  hot  mist  diiniii<<l  her 
ryos.  She  ha<l  never  heen  ill  in  her  life;  wart  sho  lU'oinj;  to 
ho  ill  now  i 

lie  left  her  in  eliarKe  of  her  mother  and  KuHtvnna,  and  re- 
turned to  the  kitchen. 

jMr.  Hill  Sann<lers,  very  much  more  at  hi«  enHo,  ii(»w  that 
the  luautiful  lady  with  the  nnirhle-})ale  faee  was  gone,  rr- 
peated  his  story,  ahnost  word  fftr  word  as  he  had  told  it  to 
I'anlina. 


Duke  listen<'d,  tnrnin^r  eold  with  pity  and  horror.      I 


nor. 


little,  pretty  Alice!     So  sweet!  so  f^ontle! — beloved  hy  alll- 
and   this  had   heen  her  fate! 

"I    shall   lay    this  matter   hefore  the   jwlice   at  once,"    Mr. 
LJHle  said.     "You  will  aecoinpany  me  to  town  to-morrow,  niy 
man,  and  repeat  your  story  hefore  the  proper  authorities.     A 
most    f(Mil   murder  has  hren  d<»ne,  and  must  be  brought    to- 
light." 

Mr.  Saunders  expressed  his  readiness,  and  took  his  de- 
l)artiure.  TFe  was  st(»i>ping  over  night  at  one  of  the  inns  in 
the  town,  and  would  wait  upon  Mr.  Lisle  the  first  thing  in 
the  morning. 

"This  is  a  nio^t  shocking  thing,  "Mason,"  he  said;  "and  in 
Paulina's  present  state  of  health  there  is  no  telling  what 
effeet  the  news  may  have  u|)on  \\or.  She  seems  to  have  heen 
very  strongly  attaehed  to  this  unfortunate  Aliee  Warren." 

"Very  strongly,"  Duke  answered,  moved  himself  more  than 
he  eared  to  show.  "It  is  her  nature  to  love  with  her  whole 
liearfc  those  whom  she  does  love — an<l  they  were  like  sisters. 
Poor  little  Alice!" 

"Who  was  the  man  with  whom  she  eloped?  Was  it  never 
known  ?" 

"Never  for  certain."  * 

"Tt  was  suspected  ?"  •  •    -    .        ' 

"Tt  was."  ^  <•      •     . 

"Who  was  the  man?" 

Duke  hesitated.  Tt  had  always  h<^en  a  story  he  had  strunk 
from- — now  niore  than  ever. 

"Who  was  the  man  with  whom  she  fle<l  ?"  Lisle  vei)eated. 

"The  man  to  whom  she  flinl  I  don't  know.  The  man  with 
whom  she  left  Speckhaven  was — Guy  Earlseourt. ' 

"Mason!"  •   '  • 

''I  can't  lielp  iV*  ^^^  B&i<l>  doggedlj.    ^'Evflry  one  Iier^ 


ly 

n 
A 

11(1 

liT 
to 

l.lt 

r«'- 
to 


ink 


<> 


Paulina  to  Alice. 


2f)5 


knows   il.     Shr  l«ft   S[)(rkl\}iv»M,  siiid   irjjvi'N-d  up  to  Loinlon 
willi  Mr.  <  iiJ.v ;  tuid  most   pc*i|)t<>  lt«'lnv«'  liin  miill.v.     I   dmrt 


I 


rn  vrr  (IhI 


no  niorr  <|(H'S 


M 


tri.rw 


w 


irmi  '»! 


r 


lUiiiiia. 


"Will  ,vwu  (rli  n\v  itil  iiltniil  ir,  Miist.i;^'  l.Av  said.  Kravtly. 
lit'  was  ln^Mniiii!/''  to  torc^cc  iKc  tiniiUIr  in  store  lor  the 
younj?  man  hn  [ikt-d  >o.  stronKl.. . 

TIh-.v  >n{  top-tlirr  I'nr  i'\rr  an  Imiir.  hii!  »  'M>n(lniiiK  him- 
self to  simple  laci.-.  Injd  all  he  knew      I  he  letfr  r  I'auliiui  had 

e    riUeeecMlin^ 


n 


eeived,    flic    liijjit    in    cunipari.v    with    (iiiy    lli 


<!venin^r-  of  the  revelatiop  of  (In.v  fo  Paulina  at  JiriKhton, 
which  she  had  r(  p<atcd  \n  Duke.  Li>l(^  listened,  ^rowiujc 
more   }ind   iiKtcc  ^rravc. 


Karls 


court   IS  no 


t    tl 


ic  man. 


h 


aid 


(lecH 


Icdl: 


•( 


lU.V    I? 


simply  incapaldc  of  lurii^f  any  ^'irl  deliheratdy  to  her  ruin, 
however  many  and  jfrcat  his  faults  >f  the  past.  I'nr  ihe 
<har^re  of  niurder,  in  coniMction  wiih  him,  it  i.-'  .d  <;«MirHe 
ntterly  mon.'tmiis.  lint  his  leaving  the  place,  and  ac<'om- 
panyiiiK'  the  ^iil  to  Ldiidon  may  plaee  him  in  a  very  dis- 
Hpreeahle  posliion  until  the  criminal  is  foun<l.  Were  none 
of  the  f)lher  men  st  )ppiii^'  at  the  Priory  suspected  at  the 
time  ^'' 

"Xotic.  That  i-^"-  Duke  liesitated — "Paulina  .««uspected 
L(»rd  Montalien,  hut  Paulina's  suspici(»ns  wore  .scarcely  un- 
prejudiced. She  always  disliked  his  lordship.  No  one  else 
♦•ver  suspected  him,  and  there  never  was  tho  slightest  proof 
afjrainst  him.  lie  may  have  a<lmirc<l  Alic(\  as  they  all  did; 
but  (Juy  was  the  only  one  amonjr  4hem  with  wh«)m  i)eopIe 
eonnocted  her  flight.  It  is  a  most  mysterious  and  shockinj^c 
affair  altojrether.  I  almost  wish  tliis  sailor,  having  kept  his 
confession  so  lonrr.  had  kept  it  forever,'' 

Tlie  kitchen  door  openc(|,  and  Olivia  Lisle  hxtked  in.  Her 
face  had  that  anxious  look  it  always  won-  when  herhushand 
was  out  of  her  sight. 

"Are  you  here.  Jv'ihert  ?  Ah!"  hriirhtcniiig  as  she  saw  liiin. 
"I  thought  perhaps  you  had  gone  (tut.  lias  that  strange  man 
k'f t  ?     What   has  lie  he<'n  .-jiying  to  distress   Pjuilina  so^' 

"Where  is  Paulii  f  K(»hert  I. isle  a-ked,  following  her 
hack  to  ttie  parlor. 

"(iojie  to  lier  room  she  w(»u1d  let  neither  Rosanna  nor 
jnysrlf  accompany  her.  She  is  altogether  untit  to  U-  h-ft 
alone.     She  insists  upon  it,  though.     What  ia  the  matter^" 

liislo  told  the  story  the  sailor  had  repeated — his  wife  and 
Kosanna  listening,  greatly  shocked.     * 

"And  Paulina  loved  this  girl  as  a  sister,"  her  motlur  «*4iid, 
rising.     "Robert,  I  must  go  toiler." 

But  Paulina's  door  was  locked.  There  was  no  response  to 
her  niotli€jr*s  kiiock.    ^      . 


I 


w 


I'ii 


fit' 


I 


m 


tii'ip 


-N 


s66 


For  a  Woman's  SakCo 


"Paulina,  "  ..v,  it  is  T — wiP  you  not  let  me  in?"  Mrs,  Ludit 
«iii(J,  ill  a  frightened  voice. 

Still  no  ''.-ply.  Terrified  now  beyo;id  measure,  Olivia's 
Crtlls  bruuiiht  the  other  thier  to  her  i 'de.  Ij.  five  m"nut(!S 
It'jhert  J.isl'  's  ptrong  hands  had  orccd  the  door.  They  en- 
tered, the  ]anij»  h'nnof^  v.pon  the  able,  and  Paulina  was 
lyinu:  lis  sh<*  had  ,-vidently  fallen,  half  across  the  bed.  Slie 
ijover  ^(iJ•r<'(l  at  their     ntrauce. 

'The  child  has  fainted!"  Kosanna  cried,  shrilly. 

Her  father  lifted  her  up.  No,  she  Iiad  liOt  fainted — she 
was  lyirifir  in  a  sort  of  stupor,  that  rendered  her  d«;af  and 
Min<l.  The  last  shock  had  finished  the  work  Guy  Earlsiourt's 
iuidden  apparitioji  weeks  befoce  had  be^n — body  and  brain 
had  i^iven  way.  Before  rnorninp^  broke  Paulina  Lisle  lay 
tosrfinjj:  in  the  wild  delirium  of  brain  fever. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Foil    A     woman's     sake. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  four-and-twenty  years  of  life 
Paulina  lay  ill — ill  unto  death.  The  airy  upper  chamber  in 
which  little  Polly  Mason,  had  slept  her  brief,  bright  life  away 
was  silent  and  <laikened  now.  A  great  London  physician  had 
been  teleg^raphed  for,  and  came,  and  Kosanna,  grim  and  gray 
in  tiie  green  dusk,  took  her  place  by  the  bedside  of  her 
nursling. 

The  great  lyoiulon  doctor  looked  portentous,  and  shook 
his  head.  Flushed,  and  delirious,  and  restles:^,  Paiiliiia  \uy, 
talking  incoherently — or  tossing  in  hot,  unrofrcshing  sleup — 
very,  very  ill.  Of  course  all  further  thought  of  departure 
was  at  an  end — who  was  to  tell  that  Paulina  Lish'b  first 
journey  nn'ght  not  be  to  the  tomb? 

And  the  grief  of  the  faithful  Iiearts,  v.'ho  loved  her  so  de- 
votedly—wlio  shall  jiaiiit  that?  They  had  to  banish  hov 
mother  by  force  from  the  sick-room — her  self-coinnT;nid  had 
all  gone  in  those  long,  miserable  years  of  asylum  lif(\  and 
her  uncontrollable  sobbing  filled  the  place — she  was  utt<M'!y 
helpless  and  useless.  It  needed  but  one  word  from  the  hus- 
band to  make  her  yield. 

"You  distress  Kosanna — you  may  disturb  Paulina — you 
will  injure^  y(<urself — come,  Olivia." 

He  was  haggard  and  pale  himself — his  very  life  seemed 
bound  up  now  in  his' new-found  wife  and  ch'ild — that  death 
or  danger  should  api»roach  either  he  had  not  di*eamed.  And 
death  and  danger  w(,'re  here,  i^ut  his  life's  training  never 
failed — ^his  grave  face  told  little  of  the  bitter  pa«n — the  mis- 
erable dread  witliiiL 


■Mr*<u«» 


For  a  Woman's  Sake- 


267 


^TToTi  and  I  will  go  up  to  town,  Mason,"  he  said,  *'by  th« 
noomhy  train.  Duty  before  all  other  things.  If  Paulina,* 
he  paused  for  a  second — "'were  with  us,  she  would  listen  to  nd 
dehiy.  The  information  you  can  give  may  be  needed.  Yon 
will  accompany  me  and  this  man  Saunders." 

"I  will  do  whatever  you  think  for  the  best,  Mr.  Lisle,* 
answered  Duke,  but  his  reluctance  was  visible;  "but  I  don't 
like — I  don't  like  repeating  this  story.  It  places  Mr.  Guy  in 
a  false  position,  makes  him  appear  guilty,  and  he  is  as  inno- 
cent of  any  wrong  against  poor  Alice  as  I  am.  It's  a  story 
I  hate  to  tell  any  one — much  less  an  official  of  the  detective 
poHce." 

JJbIc  laid  his  hand  heavily  on  the  scene  painter's  arm. 

"Mason,"  he  said,  impressively,  "Guy  Earlscourt  is  as  near 
to  me  as  a  son — more,  it  has  been  one  of  the  dearest  desires 
of  my  heart,  since  I  have  known  him,  that  ho  should  become 
my  son.  That  hope  1  have  not  yet  resigned,  ant'  'n  order 
that  his  character  may  be  entirely  freed  from  the  slightest 
imputation  of  guilt,  I  wish  this  matter  to  be  thoroughly  in- 
vestipalcd,  and  his  part  in  it  made  clear  to  the  world.  He 
has  suffered  already  too  much  in  his  reputation  on  this  un- 
hajjfjy  girl's  account.  The  story  of  the  flight,  and  the  rest 
of  it,  is  no  secret;  every  man  anri  womnn  in  Speckhaven 
seems  familiar  with  it.  Hotter  that  the  London  police  should 
hear  it  from  your  lips  than  listen  to  their  garbled  version. 
When  tlie  real  criminal  is  found,  (iuy  will  be  free  from 
blame;   never  before." 

The  three  men  went  up  to  London  by  the  noon  train. 
Alice's  letter  to  Paulina,  written  the  night  before  her  flight, 
was  senrchcd  for,  and  disc'overed  among  her  papers.  It  told 
little  to  them,  but  there  was  no  knowing  what  it  might  rot 
reve«l  to  the  practiced  eyes  of  a  detective  officer.  Ttiey 
drrvo  to  P'leet  street,  and  were  set  down  before  the  office  of 
Inspector  Burnharn,  the  detective,  who  had  already  discov- 
ered the  hiding  place  of  Olivia. 

Mr.  Burnliam  was  at  honiC — a  wiry  little  man,  in  olack 
clothes,  with  a  sallow  face,  compressed  lips,  and  light,  n.'st- 
less  eyes.  Lisle  introduced  his  two  companions  and  began 
with  the  matter  in  hand  at  once. 

Did  Burnham  remend»er  the  case  of  the  missing  girl,  Alice 
Warren,  for  tlie  discovery  of  whom  a  large  reward  had  been 
offered    about   si'x  years   af;o? 

Mr.  Bnrnham  shook  his  head.  There  were  so  many  miss- 
ing pcftple,  and  so  many  vrwnrds  offered,  that  it  was  impossi- 
ble for  any  one  liuman  mind  to  recall  them.  Had  they  a 
copy  of  the  advcrtiscmenl  ?  He  would  probably  recollect  il 
be  saw  it,  .  .  .  .--^ 


268 


For  a  Woman's  Sake. 


The  sailor  luul.  I'he  jinpoi  tliat  had  attraotcKl  his  attontion 
ill  J.ivcrpuol  he  n^ill  carriiMl  ah(»iit  with  liiiii.  J!*^  lian<l«Ml  it 
now  to  the  detect ivi'.  Mr.  i'.undiam  rec(>f4nized  il  at  one 
glance. 

''1  reiMciniier."  he  Siiid,  'I  nnieiidx'i-.  (-ase  altraet(;d  cun- 
siderahle  aUentinn  ;il  the  (iiiie.  I  was  not  coiieenuKl  in  it. 
Party  niissin;^  nev.'r  was  lound,  or  lieard  of,  was  slje  i" 

"i\ever — np  to  th(!  present.  \\v  tiiiidv  th<!  eh^w  is  found 
now.     We  thiid\  the  ^irl  was  niur«Jen;(h'' 

"Murdered!''     Mr.  l^iuahaui  |»rici<ed  uj)  his  oHieial  ears  at 
,tho  agreeahle  sound   ot*  that  worcL     '*Ah!"  with  professional 
relisl).  "inunjered,  was  slie  ^     And  liow  h)\\i^  a^o,  and  h(jw  wad 
it.  aiid  h(>vv  has  it  co.ne  to  lij^hl  f 

"'I'eil  your  story,  Saunders,"  Mr.  l.isle  said.  And  Mr. 
iSauiniers,  who  was  ehewiiiji  tohaeco,  and  spittini;^  politely  in 
»  e  .Tiier.  reiiu'veil  his  (juid  and  repeated  liis  story  of  (>hrist- 
uia     r.'i     :'S<»i>. 

InspM'tor  Bui'nhani  listened  k'-enly,  never  for  one  second 
takin.r  his  light,  sharp  eyes  off  tlie  sailor's  stolid,  sunhurned 
face. 

"On  Christmas  Eve,  1S(;2,  pncisely  at  half-past  eight 
a.  hk'  Mr.  Burnhain  produced  a  dirty  poekefhook  and  a 
stumpy  pencil,  whi<'h  retiuired  to  he  sucked  audibly  before  it 
would  make  its  nmrk.  "You're  certain  of  the  time,  my 
man  v'"  paiioinj?  with  the  stumpy  peiicii  poised  and  transfix- 
ing Bill  Saunders.  "Precisely  half-past  eighi  wheii  the  shot 
was  fired?    You  can  swear  to  this,  if  necessary  V" 

"Before  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  sir,"  responded  Saunders^ 
sturdily:  "My  watch  is  a  yvatch  wot  never  goes  wrong.  It 
was  twenty  minutes  to  nine  wlu^n  that  ere  chap  fired  that 
ere  shot,  and  it  was  ju.^t  a  (luarter  o'  nine  when  he  jumped  in 
his  trap  and  drove  away.  At  nine,  sharp,  I  left  the  place 
myself;  it  wasn't  the  sort  o'  pleasant  spot  to  make;  a  maa 
linger."      . 

"Let  me  see  the  locket,"  the  detective  said. 

i-iobert  Lisle  handed  it  to  him. 

"You  recogni/.ed  this  locket  at  once?"  he  inquired,  exam- 
ining closely  the  inscription  and  picture.   ^ 

"My  daughter  recognized  it;  Mr.  Mason,  here,  recognized 
it  at  first  sight." 

"1  could  swear  to  the  locket,"  said  Huke;  "I  was  with 
Miss  Lisle  when  she  purchased  it,  and  ordi  red  the  inseriptio;?. 
to  be  t  n^raved.  That  is  also  her  picture,  and  a  tress  of  her 
haia*.     It   is  impossible  to  be  mistaken." 

"Mr.  Mason  "  said  the  detective,  "will  you  be  kino,  uough 
to  tell  me  all  you  know  of  this  girl's  story.  I  reeoilect,  quite 
distinctly  no\7,  the  rumor  that  she  ran  away  from  home  witlt 


For  a  Woman's  Sake. 


269 


some  one — a  gcntlcinan  imirh  ahuw  lui  in  station  1  am 
right,  am  1  not  i" 

"^bout  the  rumor?  Well,  yes,"  Duf^c  a.lmittod,  n-luc- 
iantl.v.  "slie  did   run   awav." 

"Witli " 

"SIu'  (raveled  up  to  London  witli  Mr.  ^Juy  Karlseourt — 
LieutcnanL  Karlseourt  li<-  was  thcji  s»<'(,?id  son  of  Lord 
JVIontaiicn.     I)Ut  Jiiind  you,  she  didn't  run  away  with  him." 

"No';:"  Mr.  i^urnliam  was  takinj;  note  .■••  a^ain,  suckiuK  the 
stumpy  penc-il,  as  if  it  liad  hcon  a  slick  of  candy,  in  tlie  inter- 
vals. ,  "She  went  up  to  '.niid(,ii  witJi  Idni,  but  slie  di<ln't  run 
away  with  Ijim.     Xow,  liow  was  tiiat  C 

"They  met,  by  chance,  at  the  .•station."  answered  Duke, 
very  mueh  disef  r.posed ;  ''by  the  merest  chance.  Siie  told 
him  she  was  going  up  t  '  London — it  was  late  iji  the  evening, 
and  she  was  afraid  to  travel  alone;  and  slu;  asked  him  to 
take  eare  of  her." 

"Ju^t  so;  very  natural.  She  a>ked  Jum  to  take  eare  of 
her.  She  ht'.d  known  Air.  Karlseourt  a  very  long  time,  1 
suppose  V 

"For  two  years,  off  and  on." 

"She  was  a  very  pr<  ny  girl— this  Aliec  Warren?" 

"Very  pretty,  indeed." 

"Did  any  one  ftres*  nt  on  the  occasion  hear  this  eonverna- 
tion  passing  between  Miss  Warren  and  Mr.  Karlseourt  at  the 
station  iJ" 

"No  one,  that  I  am  awire  of." 

"Air.  Karlseourt  saw  her  to  her  destination,  then.  What 
was  her  destination  f 

"Some  lod^itig-liouse,  Totteidiam  Court  road  way.  I  for- 
get tlie  exai'l  a<ldress.  lie  took  her  there,  and  left  her  in 
eharge  (^f  the  huifllady" 

"Ah!"  F^urrdiam  said.  "We  mu<t  find  tiiat  landlady.  Do 
you  know.  Mr.   Mason,  i'f  he  ever  J^aw  her  again?"' 

"^'e^,  once.  Wo  t(»ld  lier  friend.  Miss  Li  le.  that,  several 
weeks  after,  lie  visited  In  r  at  her  I(»dgings,  and  (hat  he  foun<l 
her  mueh  ch;»nged-  -looking  ill  and  uidiappv.  He  went 
again,  next  flay,  brit  in  the  meantime  s!ie  had  Ix-en  removed. 
She  has  never  be.-n  heard  of  since,  until  now." 

"Humph!"   Mr.   Lurnbarn   said,   with   a   thotightful   grunt. 
"Did  Miss  Warven  leave  no  word,  no  mcs-age,  10  farewell,  to 
anybody  befrtre  (luitting  boTuer' 
'  l^isb'  produ<'ed  her  riote,  and   bande<l  it  to  h-'m. 

"She  wrote  this  to  mv  daughter  on  the  night  preceding  her 
departure.  You  will  see  she  speaks  oT  b.er  marriage  there  for 
eertaiik" 


I 


■ 


§ 


270 


For  a  Woman's  Sake. 


*     Mr.  Burnham  read  the  note  nttentively  two  or  three  timw, 
tlu-n  placed  it  with  the  h'tkct  in  his  desk. 

"Miss  Warren  bein?  a  pretty  f?irl,  as  you  say,  Mr.  Mason^ 
slie  had  doubthss  u'.imbers  of  admirers  both  in  her  own  sta 
ticMi  ftnd  above  her.     Tlje  month  was  Seiitember.    Were  there 
maiiv   j^entlemen   stayinj^    sit    Montalien    Priory    in    Septem- 
ber, lH(;2r' 

'*'rbere  were  six,"  Dnke  answered,  after  a  second's  pause. 
"Lord  Montalien  himself,  his  brother  Guy,  Mr.  Allan  Fane, 
the  artist,  Sir  Harry  (Gordon,  Captain  Cecil  Villiera,  and  a 
Mr.  Auj^ustus  SUHJnian.  I  remember  all  their  names  be- 
cause there  \va»  so  much  talk  at  the  time.'" 

"Yes;  and  were  any  of  those  gentlemen  admirers  of  Miss 
Warren?     Did  they  visit  at  her  father's  house?" 

"They  all  visited  there — except,  perhaps,  Mr.  Allan  Fane. 
who  wjis  a  married  man,  and  out  of  the  question." 

"The  others  all  visited  at  the  bailiff's  house,  then.  Did 
suspicion  fall  upcvi  none  of  these? — did  Miss  Warren  evince 
no  partiality?  It  must  have  been  pretty  clear  which  she 
liked  best,  and  -^lie  was  evidently  very  much  in  love  with  the 
man  she  ran  away  to  marry?''* 

Duke  hesitated.  He  knew  Paulina's  suspicions  of  Lord 
Montalien,  but  they  were  only  Paulina's  suspicions — no  one 
6hare<^,  thein.     He  had  no  right  to  repeat  them. 

"No,"  he  answered,  after  that  pause.  "T  never  heard  she 
evinced  any  particular  partiality.  They  all  went,  and  she 
was  pleasant  to  all.     I  know  no  more." 

"And  Pm  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  telU;  ;.  what  you 
do  know,  Pm  sure,"  Inspector  Bu^nham  said,  politely. 
"Now,  if  I  only  had  the  addresses  of  those  tjentlcnien — you 
couldn't  furnish  me  with  them,  I  suppose?" 

Nu.  Mr.  Mason  could  not.  Sir  Harry  Gordon  and  Captain 
Vllliers  were  in  the  Guards,  Mr.  Allan  Fane  and  Mr.  Guy 
Eaxl^^eourt  were  in  London,  and  easily  to  be  found  when 
wanted.  And  Lord  Montalien  was  down  in  Lincolnshire, 
«t  the  Priory,  in  very  bad  health. 

Mr.  Burnham  shut  up  his  pocketbook,  locked  his  desk, 
looked  at  hi'<  watch,  and  got  up. 

"Half-p: -^t  four.  I  don't  see  anything  to  hinder  our  tak- 
ing a  drive  oui  *o  Batt^rsea  way,  and  having  a  look  at  this 
spot  Mr.  Raun((<  rs  telis  us  of.  We'll  dismiss  the  cabs  some 
distance  o^,  ,\V']  »/.  nn  foot  to  the  place." 

He  rang  a  ':eU,  \Vii>.\;pe^*Hl  a  fev  words  to  a  subordinate, 
and  preparr]  for  the  ririye. 

"ItV  not  i'yk'cly  -fae  remain*  have  ewer  been  discovered,  or 
we'd  have  hea^  :  of    t.     Curious  how  those  tjiioge  l;#ra  w»». 


For  a  Woman's  Sake. 


271 


ti 


Yf)U 


"liv4  tiidnVsee  the  man^s  face,  you  say?"  to  Saunders. 
couldn't  ideiitif;y  him  again  ix  you  met,  1  supposed' 

"In  course  not,"  answered  Saunders;  "1  never  see  his  face. 
He  had  a  muiiier,  or  a  comforter,  twisted  up  to  his  nose,  and 
it  was  snowin'  like  all  creation.  He  was  a  tall,  slim  chap — i 
sea  that — with  the  look  of  a  gentleman,  but  I  couldn't  tell 
him  af^ain  not  if  1  ran  slap  agin  him  this  minute." 

"Cabs  waiting,  sir,"  a  voice  called,  and  the  men  went  nnt 
io  the  street.  Two  cabs  were  hefore  the  door,  and  in  the 
foremost,  which  Inspector  Burnham  entered,  a  man  >at  who 
had  an  official  air,  like  the  inspector  himself.  A  large  box 
was  placed  on  his  knees. 

"I'll  go  in  this,  with  my  friend  Timmins,"  Burnliara  said. 
"You  three  gentlemen  will  take  the  four-wheeler." 

He  gave  the  word,  and  the  cab  started.  In  tlie  second  '-ar- 
riage  the  three  men  sat  in  profound  silence.  It  was  not  a 
pleasant  errand  they  were  going  upon — to  look  at  tli"  spot 
where  poor  Alice  Warren  had  been  so  foully  murdered,  and 
tind  all  that  remained  of  her  after  six  years. 

The  drive  was  not  a  very  long  one.  As  the  bleak  cxtcnl-  of 
waste  ground  came  in  view,  bleak  even  this  golden  suturirer 
day.  Inspector  Burnham  stopped  the  cab,  and  with  his  cv»ni- 
panion  got  out.  That  conif)ani()n  carried  under  hi-  arm  the 
box  before  spoken  of,  and  in  his  left  hand  a  liglit  spadf.  Tlie 
occupants  of  the  second  carriage  looked  witli  some  furiosity 
at  these  things,  but  no  one  asked  any  quc-^tions. 

"You  are  sure  you  will  recognize  the  exact  spot,  Mr.  Saun- 
ders ^"  the  policeman  asked. 

"Sartin,  sir,"  the  seaman  respondwl.  "I've  se<'n  it.  sleep- 
ing and  waking,  every  day  and  night  since  I  was  unlu<'ky 
enough  to  lay  eyes  on  it  first." 

He  went' on  ahead,  the  two  detectives  following,  and  T/re| 
and  Duke  bringing  up  the  rear.     The  July  aftern<)»»n  was  n 
its  mellowest  as  they  crossed  the  comnion — yellow  sunshine 
everywhere,  and  a  bright,  blue  heaven  over  all.     Teii  rninui  s* 
walking,  and  the  sailor  stopfwd  short. 

"This  here's  the  place,  sir,"'  he  said  4o  tl»<'  letec'  '  s. 
"Things  hasn't  changed  a  mite  since  I  was  here  >ix  years  ago. 
There^s  the  old  kiln,  behin'l  which  I  watched  the  man,  and 
this  here's  the  spot  where  I  picked  np  the  locket.  Dig  among 
this  rubbish  at  the  entrance,  and  you'll  find  all  that's  hft  of 
that  there  misfortunatc  young  'ooman." 

The  place  to  which  he  pointed  was  a  s«rt  of  excavation, 
hollowed  out  of  the  high,  clayey  embankment,  the  mtra!  ^*9 
choked  up  with  rubbish  of  every  sort. 

"1%,  Timmins,"  Tngpector  Burnham  saiH.  sentcntiously, 
•nd  Wimc  ciown  bu  bcs. 


i 


\ 


M' 


272 


For  a  Woman's  Sake. 


'i'iiiniiiiirf  ftot  1m  work,  'i'lio  «Jrv  inljlrfsh  came  away  easily 
t'liniigh.     Five  i!iiiiuU's'  work,  and   the  fiitiaiico  was  cloarcnL 

Mr.  lUiriilinin  sfoopcd  and  luolu'd  in.  The  liollow  place 
was  (tiiilc  dark  ami  (juitc  liry  an  cartliy  inlov  aloJUi  was  per- 
cept ildc.  It  was  Icderaldy  Inrpfc,  nof  hi^'h  ct:ou^ii  for  a  maa 
to  >tand  upriiiht  in.  It  had  ('\idently  Ijccii  mad«i  and  used 
lon^'  a^o   for  the   purpose  of   lioldin^r   tocds. 

'*l'"ct«'li  aion^'  the  lantern,  'i'immins,"  the;  (kitective  said. 
"I  thought  it  mij;ht  be  dark,"  to  Mr.  Lisle,  "and  came  j)ro- 
■    vided.      Il"  you  please.   I'll   trouble  you  to  follow  nu;  in." 

Tinunins  ])roduced  a  small  lant«'rn  from  the  box,  'if^hted 
the  candle,  and  handed  it  to  his  supt^ior  oflicer.  Inspector 
liurnham  went   in  at  once,  holdinf^c  the  li^ht  befoi'(?  him. 

Lisle  followed.  The  idace  was  perfectly  dry  and  of  con- 
siderable exteul. 

Three  steps  from  the  entrance,  and  what  they  sought  was 
found. 

A  human  skull  lay  at  the  detective's  feet,  human  bonr^s  lay 
scattered  and  dry  and  flesld(>ss,  a  mass  of  long,  brown  hair, 
and  torn  frag:ments  of  a  woman's  dress. 

"Look!"  said  In^^pectof  l>urnham. 

lie  picked  u,*  the  skull  with  perfect  coolness,  an^  passed  it 
to  his  companion. 

P»ut  Robert  Lisle  declined  takiiif^  it  by  a  motif)n.  Death, 
in  its  Most  horrible  forms,  Jmd  been  familiar  to  him  in  his 
checkered  career:  scddi^rs  he  had  seeii  mown  down  like  corn 
before  the  sickle;  but  this  was  different. 

A  helpless  woman,  nuirdered  in  cold  bio  •  1.  is,  perhaps,  of 
all  terrible  an<l  unnatural  thini^s,  the  mo  lerribk;  and  un- 
natural. And  this  w<amin  had  been  his  i  'oved  daughter's 
deares'    friend. 

"Til  unins,''  IVIr.  Burnham  said,  setting-  down  his  light,  and 
;:ettin^  on  his  knees,  "fetch  us  the  box." 

Tinniiins    groped     his    way     in — the    box    was    evidently 

iirought    for    the    })urpose    of    removing    the    renniins.     Lisle 

-     watehcd  till'  deteclive  and  the  sergeant,  wondering  at  their 

'  professional  coolness.     They  gathered  together  everything  — 

hair — bones — every  shred  of  dress. 

"Have  we  all?"  asked  the  inspeotor,  peering  with  his  lan- 
tern over  the  ground. 

"I  think  so.     No— not  all;  what's  this?" 

It  was  a  tiny  silken  bag,  with  a  string,  as  if  it  had  Ihh'U 
wovTi  al  out  the  iiCi-k.  Something  like  paper  crackled  within. 
Inspector  l^urnham  opened  tlu^  little  bag.  and  drew  out  a  slin 
'  of  paper.  Was  it  a  niarriage  c(»rtitieate?  No,  ic  was  an  ad- 
dress— the  ad(keas  of  Lieutenant  Guy  Karlscourt,  Piccadilly 
— the  a^ldress  Guj  had  turned  back  to  give  Alice  on  the  iiiKht 


of 


ror  a  Woman's  Sake. 


27J    -, 


of  her  arriv  1  at  fJilhort's  (Jardcus,  wlit'ii  lie  had  told  lu?r,  if 
ever  in  trouble  or  need,  to  send  t(j  him.  and  he  wuuhi  eoine  to 
her. 

SIh.'  had  kept  it  al\v;iys  in  p^iMfeful  renieiiihranee- -jk>uP 
Aliv'^* — of  his  kind  words  and  looks.  And  now  it  had  ('onic  to 
bear  !-;ilent  witness  a^ain^^t   him, 

Notliing-  renniined— the  hox  nnd  its  j.vhr.sti.v  ennf.  nfs  wero 
taken  out  h.y  'I'immins.  'ili  i  thre«*  mcfi  once  more  stood  in 
tiie  bright  snnliglil,  and  the  se<;ret  of  th:it  d;irk  exe.ivatioii 
was  its  seertj    no  longer. 

Timmins  shouldered  the  bt)X  and  started  bifk  for  his  eab 
— the  others  foll(»wiiig--silei)t,  ^fxim.v.  All  save  Inspeetor 
liuridiMni — his  silence  w.is  the  siK-nee  of  deep  thought,  not 
gloom.  Here  was  a  splendid  e;ise  cropping  ii})-  a  ciisc  that 
would  create  an  excitcTnent  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  P^ngland. 

The  Honorable  iUiy  Kiirlseourt,  the  brother  of  T.ord  Monf- 
alion,  the  popular  author,  hunted  down  for  murder,  and  by 
him.  Inspector  liuriduim.  Why,  if  he  could  track  the  deed 
clearly  home  to  him,  his  reputation  for  life  was  ma<l<'. 

He  linlced  his  arm  in  Duke's,  who  would  much  ratlvr  not, 
and  drew  him  a  little  behind, 

"T  have  another  question  to  a^k  you,  Mr,  Mason.  .\re  you 
a'vare  by  what  Jianie  this  IVIiss  Warren  went  in  her  lodgings? 
An  assumed  name,  I'll  wager." 

"Tt  was  an  assumed  name,"  answered  Duke.  "She  was 
known  as  Mrs.  Brown." 

"And  how  do  you  happen  to  bo  aware  of  it^  Oh."  care- 
lessly, "Mr.  Earlscourt,  no  doubt,  infornu'd  Mi"-'s  Lisle?" 

"He  did." 

"Mrs.  Brown."  The  notebook  and  pencil  came  out  again. 
"Tottejdiam  Court  road,  I  thinks  ^'ou  don't  remettd)er.  or, 
perhaps,  you  never  heard,  the  name  of  the  landlady^  It's  (;s- 
sential  to  find  that  woman,   Mr.   Mason." 

"1  have  head  the  name,  but  I  forget.  It  began  with  an  TI 
—  Holmes,  <ir    Ila.M-^.  sonielhing  of   that    kind." 

"liul   Miss  I. isle  will  remendier.  no  doubt  T' 

"Miss  I. Isle  is  ill  of  brain  fever-  she  will  r<  'oember  noth- 
ing," Duke  said,  and  relapsed  into  silence  and  glocnn. 

Mr    nurnham  left    Dnke  and  appioai'lied   Saundei'> 

"And  where  shall  we  find  yon,  my  nian,  win  n  we  \\m\t 
yaWi  You  w'v  tfie  most  imporlanf  personage  in  the  matter 
just  now,  and  must  giv<'  bonds  by  and  by  for  y*»i|r  apftear- 
ntU'e  when  called  tipou.  Do  ynu  return  to  T/meolnsliin>  or 
remain  in  London  V 

"I  stays  here,"  Hiiunders  answered;  '*!  ain't  got  no  busi- 
neefi  in  Lincolnshire,  and  I  menu  to  stay  asljore  until  1  ^^ 


■1 


i  it  t 


^u 


r^or  a  Woman's  Sak 


When  you  wants  me 


f  TO 


0« 


Th 


thti  cud  of   tliiH   horo  matter. 
hand  .  ud  williu'." 

Jle  j^avc  an  uddross.  Mr.  liurnliiiiu  took  it  down,  i  uea 
thc-y  re-entered  tluir  resjtoctive  eubj;,  and  drove  back  to  Lou- 
don. 

It  was  very  late  when  Mr.  Lisle  and  Duke  reached  homo. 
Olivia  tiew  to  lior  husband  as  slie  always  «li(i,  wliethcr  liin 
absenee  was  long  or  short,  lorgeltinu,  in  tlie  rapture  of  his 
return,  everything  else  for  thl;  moment. 

Paulina  was  much  the  same — no  better— no  worse — know- 
ing no  one — resth'ss — parehed  with  thirst — delirious  always, 
calling — sleeijintr  and  waking — for  "Alice,  Alice  I" 

Lispector  I)U.  diam,  of  the  Metropolitan  J'oliee,  went  to 
work  at  once,  and  with  a  will,  working  up  this  extraordinary 
ease;  extraordinary  only  in  that  .so  distinguished  a  man  aa 
Guy  Karl-court  was  the  sus[)ecte(l  criminal,  lie  notilied  the 
coroner  of  the  district,  and  placed  the  box  and  its  dreadfid 
contents  under  his  charge.  And  then  ho  s«  c  to  work  to  hunt 
up  the  lodging-house  in  Tottenham  Court  road,  to  which 
Nlr.  Karlscourt  had  brought  Alicu'  Warren. 

T'  task  was  not  difficult  to  a  man  of  Mr.  Burnham's  skill 
and  experienc(\  ^Irs.  Howe  still  resided  at  tlie  same  phu;e, 
and  in  the  same  house,  and  remembered,  very  readily,  wh<>n 
Mr.  Burnham  asked  the  question  about  the  "Mrs.  Brown" 
who  six  years  before  had  been  her  lodger. 

'"Which  a  nicer  young  persing,  or  one  as  gave  less  trouble, 
never  set  foot  in  this  'ouse  since  or  before,"  said  Mrs.  Howe; 
"and  from  the  day  she  !- ft  to  this  minute,  I've  never  heard 
tale  or  ti<lings.  And  I  do  'ope,  sir,  as  'ow  the  poor  lady  is 
W(.'ll  and  'appy,  which  she  certainly  was  neither  when  she  left 
here." 

"Xeither  well  nor  hap])y?  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that.  Mr. 
Brown,  ])erhaps,  tn^ated  lier  unkindly?" 

"Hrown!"  cried  Mrs.  Howe,  in  shrill  scorn;  "no  more 
Brown  than  I'm  a  Dutchman!  He  w^as  a  millingtary  swell, 
as  I  always  said  it  from  the  first,  and  always  shall,  and 
whetlur  she  was  his  wife  or  not,  he  knows  b(!st.  She  thought 
Bhe  was,  poor  donr,  for  a^  more  hiimocenter  ereoter  never 
came  up  from  the  country  to  go  t«)  her  ruining  and  misery  in 
London.  Tie  was  a  millingtary  gent,  and  the  very  'and- 
soniest  T  <§ver  see.  thoijjih  hi"^  hnctions  were  the  rewerse  of 
'andsoire.  Not  brt  that  he  raid  up  the  bill  without  a  word 
— basking  iin  a  receipt  in  th;it  'anghty  way  of  his — bul  he 
treated  her  shameful,  poor  soul,  and  left  her  to  worrit  herself 
to  a  shadder,  as  she  was  when  took  away." 

"A  raillinf^ary  gent,"  repeated  Mr.  Bumham.  ^'What  was 
lie  like.  Mrs.  Howef" 


For  a  Woman's  Sake, 


275 


"Tall  5111(1  'aniLsomc,  carrying  hia  'oad  liko  thftt," — Mm. 
Howo  flunpr  UP  her  own — "dark-complectcd,  (lark-h«\vfij, 
black  'iiir,  very  j^losny,  curly,  jui.i  black  inuHtach<».  I  iicvor 
'ad  a  good  look  at  his  faco,  hut  onco — tbc  ni^^ht  be  first 
brouffbt  bor  berc — bo  balways  came  rriulHcd  up  bat'tcrvvardH, 
but  1  s<*e  bim  as  j^Iaiii  now  ns  1  did  tbat  minute." 

"Is  tliis  anytbing  like  bim  f  incjuired  Mr.  IJurubam, 
quietly.  He  im-<m1uc«m1  a  pbotof^rapb,  and  Mrs,  Howe  utt<'re(l 
a  cry  of  recognition. 

"Tba^t's  bim!  tbat's  bim— Mra.  Brown's  'usband!  Tbat's 
the  very  gent  I   mean — I  could  tell  tbat  picture  anywbere!" 

Mr.  Hurnbanj  replaced  tlie  pbotograi)b  of  (iuy  Harlscourt 
in  bis  pocket. 

"Now,  Mrs.  ffowe,"  bo  said,  "I'll  tell  you  wbo  I  am.  I'm 
Inspector  Burnliam,  of  tbe  dotoctivo  force." 

Mrs.  IIovvo  gave  a  gasp.  "Don't  bo  afraid;  I'll  not  do  you 
any  barm.  Tbis  young  woman,  you  knew  as  Mrs.  lir  avn,  is 
missing — bas  l)oon  for  some  years  back — and  we  want  to  \iiu\^ 
hor,  tbat's  all.  Wbat  you've  got  to  do  is  to  tell  me  every- 
tbiiig  you  knew  froni  tbo  bour  Mrs.  Brown  entered  your 
bouse  until  sbe  left  it." 

Ho  produced  tbe  notebookf  and  gave  tbe  stumpy  pencil  a 
preparatory  lick. 

Mrs.  Howe,  in  mortal  terror  of  a  detective,  began  at  tbo 
beginning — the  visit  of  Augustus  Stednian  to  engiig;'  the 
rooms  for  a  "party  from  tbe  country,  a  runaway  match,  g'>- 
ing  to  be  married  tbe  day  after  bor  arrival."  "Wbicb,"  said 
Mrs.  Howe,  "them  were  bis  own  expressions." 

"You  don't  know  tbis  young  man's  name?" 

No;  Mrs.  Howe  had  never  heard  it,  and  never  set  eyes  on 
him  again,  though  be  did  call  on  tbe  young  lady  next  morn- 
ing. 

"Describe  him.'*  • 

This  was  not  so  easy  as  describing  Guy.  Mr.  Karlscourt's 
was  a  face,  once  seen,  very  easily  remembered.  Mrs.  Howe 
liad  a  good  memory  for  faces,  however,  and  bit  off  Mr.  Sted- 
man  pretty  well. 

"We'll  find  him  when  we  want  bim,  I  dare  say,"  said  tbe 
detective,  writing  rapidly.     "Go  ahead,  Mrs.TTowe." 

Mrs.  Howe  described  tbe  arrival  of  Guy  and  Alice  about 
midnight,  and  tbe  appearance  of  both. 

Mr.  Burnham  produced  a  second  portrait,  this  time  of 
Alice,  procured  from   Speckhaven. 

"Is  this  anything  like  her?" 

"As  like  as  lil^^ — that's  Mrs.  Brown,  as  T  saw  her  first;  ae 
swe*t  and  pretty  a  fac^  a?  ever  I  set  my  hoyes  on.  Not  that 
her  good  looks  lasted  long,  poor  thing.'* 


i 


t  i 


t 


'W 


276 


For  a  Womnn*s  Snke. 


What   wuH    tlw   ifcutle'iuan's   iiiuuikt  K-Hffectionato,   now. 


>f 


arr 


HH  a  lf»vor'H  rjuKht   !►<'  ( 

"Well — y<'s,"  Iicsitjitiii^r  sniiHvvluit ;  "In.'  -.<*cmfil  vi'ry  c 
fiH  of  licr  iiiMi  lliiil,  iiml  «-iilI((l  her  'I  lalirc;'  jitid  wlici  he  >»ii«| 
tf(»(i(l-l»y,  iiii<l  left  tlic  rooiii.  In-  ran  hack  to  licr  u^iiiii.  Yes, 
ho  WHS   hafl«'rtioiuit<'.    Mr.    liuinliam,  sir." 

"Did  .you  \unv  hrr  juidn'ss  him  hy  his  (Miristiuii  narnoif" 

Tlw  luiHJlad.v  shook  licr  hrad. 

"X(t,  sir,  ^\h'  didn't  in  my  'raring;  1  slio\dd  liavc  nMiicni- 
hcrcd  it  if  siic  Ijaih  No,  sir,  sh«'  diihi't.  And  I  lien  he  wrnl 
away,  an<l  she  went  up  to  hcd.  And  tlic  next  aftcriionn, 
alxiut  six  fi'cdock  I  think  it  was,  »  t-ah  drove  up,  and  a  jjcntle- 
man  j^ot  (»ul,  and  ran  upstairs.  I  went  to  the  fr<»nt  window 
to  see  llieni  jioin^  holT  to  h<'  married,  hut  I  eouKUi't  ^ee  liis 
face,  lie  ha<l  a  wide,  hhick  Init,  shiudwd  down  over  his  nose, 
and  lii>  coal  collar,  that  turned  up  there  was  no  j^ettin^'  a 
h)ok  at  him.  And  it  was  after  (huk  hefore  they  eanie  hack. 
'And  when  he  came  after  that,  it  was  lialvvays  in  a  sort  (d'  dis- 
guise. M(»st  of  the  times  I  was  husy  in  the  kitchen,  and 
didn't  see  him  at  all — when  1  did,  1  couldn't  get  another  hi^k 
at  his  face.  He  genrwally  cjyne  ah<niT  dusk,  too,  and  the 
l)assap'  Is  daik,  Xo.  sir,  except  the  lirst  night,  1  never  got  a 
look  at   Mis.  Hrown's  'ushand's  face.*' 

Mrs.  Howe  had  very  little  more  real  information  to  give 
Mr.  Hurnliam.  W(»uld  she  try,  and  think — had  not  the  tal', 
(huk,  military  young  gentleman  called  afterward,  unmntHed 
and  undisguicd  '.'' 

Mrs.  Ih^wc  shook  her  h:nul.  Not  that  she  had  over  seen; 
hut  now  Mr.  Hurnham  spoke  of  it,  she  did  rememher  Sarah 
Hann  (the  girl)  telling  her  of  a  visitor  Mrs.  Brown  had  had 
in  her  ah-^<!ice,  who  called  early,  and  on  the  first  oci-asiou 
hrought  a  hont|U«'t  <d'  roses.  SJk;  ha<l  h<»en  very  husy  at  the 
time,  and  j)aid  hut  little  attention.  It  was  the  very  day  he- 
fore  Mrs.  Hr(»wn  left.  Later  that  same  afternoon  her  hus- 
})and  had  called.  It  might  and  it  might  not  he  him  as  had 
}»rought  the  roses.  She  hei'self .had  let  him  in.  It  was  dai'k 
and  rainy,  she  remendierecl,  and  he  had  a  shawl  wound  about 
the  lower  part  <d'  his  face.  He  and  Mrs.  Brown  had  <|uar- 
Tcled— they  had  heard  her  crying,  and  his  voice  raised  as  if 
i)i  anyer.  He  had  i)aid  the  hill  himself  m  the  passage,  and 
informed  her  her  lodger  would  leave  n<\\t  day.  So  she  had— 
for  the  country  somewhere,  she  ha«l  told  Mr<.  Howe  i>n  goin'; 
"and  if  ever  any  poor  soul  looked  hearthroke,"  the  landlady 
pathetically  coufduded,  "it  was  Mrs.  l>rown  as  she  got  into 
the  cab  and  drove  away.  From  that^day  to  this  I've  never 
set  eyes  or  heard  tell  (»f  her,  hut  Sarah  Hann,  she  told  nie 
next  day,  when  I  came  home  from  market,  how  the  tall,  dark 


tor 
in  V 
di^c" 
left 
llttl.' 


For  a  Woman's  S;iko. 


277 


fXeui  liiid  Im'Cii  liiirk  i»u;iin,  li.i.sUiii'  f-tr  Al  1 -.  Hrown,  .-nui 
S4'<'irn'(i  upset  like  wIhh  told  sjic  wiis  {','>•>«'.  **\\  li  «'li,"  ruii^ 
chulcil  tlio  lauHllad.v,  *'\vji->  lil<"  li's  '••jirtl'.'s^  fiiikx  l<»  dcccivM 
pr.ipic,  iiiid  iiiixln  tlu'iM  tliiiiU  ;is  'ii\v  lir  wn^n'i  llic  party  as 
took  Imt  away  Iiiiii-rlf." 

Mr.  lUiniham  inqiiirfd  fur  "Sarah  ll.niii."  Mi'-.  Now** 
sIiomU  her  lirad  in  -i  i.M'laiclioly  way.  "Surah  llann  hi>d  htM-ii 
(|('a(|  and  ^oim*  lh(-c  two  year-  of  a  dt'cliiic.  Slw  had  110 
nioH'  lo  tril.  To  what  slic  had  fold  she  was  ready  to  l.d\«'  her 
ali\da\*t  in  any  eoiiit  in   !,(»ndon." 

";^  hd  I'm  very  niueh  ohlin:ed  to  you,  Mr-.  Howe."  In-ipee- 
•  <)!•  I'urnhanj  sai<!,  ri-lny;  to  depart,  "for  the  pN-asanf  manlier 
in  wlilt  h  you  h;ive  ^iven  your  inlorniat  ion.  If  \\v  <'an  only 
di-ei'\»  ••  now,  wherealioijfs  Mr.  l»rown  took  liis  wife  when  sho 
left   (iilicit's  (larcVii  ,    I    think  wo  shall   have  a  very   pretty 

Utile  case  worked  up.    (lood-day  to  you,  nui'ani." 

•;:  -x-  *  *  *  *  * 

Two  <lays  later,  and  in  his  studio,  with  the  slantiiiLf  rays 
of  the  .July  sun  streaming:  in  upon  the  canvas,  an  oM  friend 
of  ours  stands,  busily  painlinu;.  It  is  Allan  Fane,  the  artistr, 
wlioni,  in  the  press  of  others'  affairs,  wo  have  (|uit(^  lo^t  sij^ht 
of  lately.  The  studio  is  a  v.ery  small,  very  luxurious  iitthi 
room,  sacred  to  the  ai-list  him<(df,  his  most  cherish(>d  jdc- 
tures,  and  most  intimate  friends.  There  is  a  lartrer,  outer 
atelier,  where  fjrentlemen  cou^refi:ate  to  smoke  and  talk — lon^- 
liair(>(l  gentlemen  mostly,  who  didn't  patronize  harhers — the 
Brotherliood  of  the  Brush. 

The  years  that  have  Ixmmi  so  frauj?ht  witih  events  for  others, 
have  not  passed  without  chanfj:e  over  the  heiid  of  ,\Ilan  Fane. 
He  stands  hero  to-day  with  tlie  y(dlow  sunshine  on  hi'^  face, 
p:reatly  chanp-ed,  greatly  improved,  from  the  effeminate, 
weakly,  iiahdent,  and  selfish  youn^  man.  Wi»o.  ei^ht  years 
aji:o,  fell  in  love  with  aiid  <lescrted  little  Polly  Ma-i-n.  Tho 
fairer,  soniewhat  womanish  beauty  of  his  face  remains,  hue 
his  lon^^  ^(.Iden  beard,  and  the  firmer  curve  of  the  lips,  tlu^ 
graver  lipiit  of  the  eyes,  tell  now  of  str(Mif?th  and  power-ay, 
penius  within.  Tie  is  a  celebrated  man— he  has  won  for 
himself  fane  and  wealth;  and  the  Bond  street  tailor  hart 
ear.sc  at  last  to  be  proud  of  his  son- -a  soji,  wh(»  has  sendo 
enough  to  be  ashained  of  his  humble  (tri^in  no  mr)rc. 

A  month  after  that  October  day  on  which  he  ha<l  met 
T'anliiiii  down  in  Siieckhaven,  after  her  retiirii  froui  France, 
1  i  ■.''*.'  Iiad  died  nbroa<l.  ITer  fortune  had  p:on<^  with  her — 
t!:  !  !'':triM>  i'ov  which  h.*^  had  so  weakl.y  sold  himself,  and 
(/I."  r-arc  he  was  free.  Ffe  tried,  manfully  enon;.ih,  to  re- 
press the  feelinf^  of  relief  and  pfladness  that  would  «rise— his 
wedded  Jife  had  beea  unspeakably  bitter,  aud  eiflrbtt  months 


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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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1 


278 


For  a  Woman's  Sake. 


after  their  union  t]iey  had  parted  by  mutual  conscnl — and  he 
was  free — and  Paulina  Lisle. 

He  went  back  to  his  brush  and  easf  1,  and  worked  r.c  he  had 
never  worked  in  his  life  before.  The  picture  was  his  long- 
drcamc(!-of,  lon«j:-talkeH-of  "Rosamond  and  Eleanor;"  and  he 
painted  his  RoHariiond  from  memory.  All  that  vfinter  he 
spent  at  Montalien  Priory  over  this  one  pjlinting,  and  in  the 
Hpring  it  went  to  the  exhibition.  On  the  chances  of  that  pic- 
ture his  whole  future  hung — if  it  failed,  his  ruin  was  com- 
plete. The  picture  was  a  great,  a  wonderful  success — crowds 
flocked  daily  to  see  it,  the  newspapers  praised  and  abused  it 
without  bounds — all  London  talked  of  it,  a  royal  duke  bought 
it  a  fabulous  price — orders  rushed  in  upon  him,  and  the  ar- 
tist's fortune  was  made.  •  The  world  had  not  seen  Paulina 
Lisle  then,  but  a  little  later,  and  people  began  to  talk  of  the 
marvelous  resemblance  between  Sir  Vane  Charteris'  ward 
and  the  fair  Rosamond,  and  to  discover  that  Miss  Lisle  must 
havfi  !*at  for  the  original. 

The  picture  was  a  striking  one. 
.  You  saw  a  bleak  stone  hall;  a  "red,  rising  moon  through  its 
one  wide-open  casement,  rending  it?  way  up  through  piles  of 
jajrgered  black  clouds.  Queen  Eleanor  stood,  a  wrathful, 
murderous  womov.^  robed  in  heavy  purple  draperies,  with 
bent,  black  brows,  and  eyes  of  dusky  fire,  proffering  the  bowl 
and  dagger.  Rosamond  stood  with  the  red  light  of  the  rising 
moon  upon  her  fair  face  and  flowing  golden  hair — a  form 
slender  and  girlish,  drawn  up  to  its  fullest  height — the  face 
wliite  as  death,  the  blue  eye*  flashing  as  b^iie  eyes  anly  flash; 
the  whole  fearless  face  full  of  pride  and  defiant  scorn. 

So,  surely,  never  looked  the  fair,  frail  mistress  of  the  king, 
confionted  by  the  jealous  wife,  but  so  Allan  Fane  had 
choi^en  to  paint  her.  The  face  shone  out  so  vividly,  so  star- 
tlingly  lifelike,  from  the  canvas,  that  you  seemed  to  hear  the 
scornful  words  of  defiance  with  which  she  braved  the  in- 
fuiiato  queen.  Had  Paulina  Lisle  ever  really  looked  like 
that,  people  wondered?  No;  but  in  the  twilight  of  a  summer 
day,  P0II5  Mason  had,  as  she  flung  his  ring  at  Allan  Fane's 
ftet,  and  stood  before  him  in  bar  new-found  womanhood, 
scorning  him. 

While  life  remained,  Allan  Fane  would  never  forget  how 
slie  looked,  how  she  spoke  then. 

'J'iie  ])icture  was  a  success,  and  his  fortune  made. 

ITc  f]id  not  go  into  so(  icty  ihtxi  year;  he  heard  in  silence 
of  her  beauty  and  her  triuniplis:  and  the  second 'season  he 
met  her.  T1k3  old  love,  stronger  than  ever,  filled  his  heart — 
he  was  famous  now,  'and  rapidly  acquiring  wealth,  and  ht 
laid  his  kurd  crown  very  humblb^  at  her  feet.    He  Iq^ved  hm 


de 

hi 
cr 


kiuR, 
Ivad 
star- 
r  the 
e  in- 
iike 
m 
ane's 
hood» 


ence 

n  he 

rt— 

d  h« 


For  a  Woman's  Sake. 


279 


devotedly — with  a  love  th^t  knew  no  change — would  she-  ho 
his  wife?  Her  answier  liad  beeu  a  refusal,  a  refusal  that 
crushed  out  every  atom  of  hope. 

"The  ffme  for  all  that  is  past,  Mr.  Fane,"  she  said,  cjuiotly. 
"T  could/not  care  for  you  now  if  1  tried.  Will  you  let  mo 
be^your  friend  ?    Your  wife  I  never  can  be.    It  is  too  lati-." 

Too  late!  The  old,  dreary  refrain.  Once  her  love  had 
been  within  his  i^rasp,  and  he  had  turned  away  from  the  pi  ft, 
and  now  it  was  too  late!  He  accepted  his  fate,  with  a  brave 
patiOiii'e  that  made  her  like  him  as  nothing  else  could  have 
done,  and  they  had  been  "friends,"  as  she  wished  it,  since. 

There  are  not  many  men  who  will  remain  the  faitltful 
friend  of  the  woman  who  refuses  them — Allan  Fane  was  one. 

Wisdom  and  generosity  were  coming  to  him  with  years  and 
suffering! 

Ue  stands  this  July  afternoon  painting  busily.  He  is  not 
<ilonQ.  On  a  Turkisu  divan,  smoking  a  hmg,  twisted  pipe,- 
stretched  at  full  length,  lies  Guy  Earlscourt.  It  is  the  last 
day  of  his  stay  in  England — by  the  latest  train  he  departs 
i>.T  Liverpool,  to  sail  to-morrow  for  New  York,  and  his  last 
hour  he  is  spending  with  his  friend.  A  greyhound  lies  at  his 
feet,  and  looks  up  in  his  face  with  darkly  loving  eyes,  as 
Guy  pulls  his  long  ears  ti>r  »ugh  his  fingers. 

There  is  silence  in  the  little  room — the  artist  works  indus- 
triously, and  Guy  smokes  and  watches  with  dreamy  eyes  a 
picture  hanging  opposite.  It  is  the  fair  head  and  graceful 
throat  of  a  girl  in  her  first  youth — the  lips  wear  a  saucy 
smile,  the  sapphire  eyes  sparkle  with  laughing  light,  and  fol- 
k)w  you  wherever  you  go.  The  picture  is  richly  framed,  and 
never  leaves  that  spot — it  is  a  portrait  of  "Polly  Mason." 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Guy?"  the  artist  says,  at  length 
catching  the  glance.  "It  is  like  her,  I  think,  as — as  we  knew 
her  first." 

It  was  almost  the  only  time  her  name  had  passed  his  lips 
to  Guy.  lie  dreamed  not  of  the  yoiing  author's  secret,  of 
course,  but  he  had  seen  them  together,  noted,  with  surprise, 
the  marked  restraint  and  avoidance  between  them,  and  felt 
thece  must  be  a  secret  I  ehind. 

"Very 'like,"  Guy  answered;  "so  like  that  I  can  see  that 
birthday  fete  and  her,  as  she  stood  dancing  in  the  sunshine. 
Allan,  I  should  like  a  copy  of  that  picture  to  take  with" 
me " 

"To  your  second  exile?  You  shall  have  it.  T  have  already 
promised  a  copy  to  another  old  friend  of  hers — Duke  Mason. 
What  a  strangely  checkere<l  life  hers  has  been— little  Polly 
Mason — reject  a  duke!  Guy,  I  wonder  why  ahn  threw  over 
Ueatheflaud  2    It  it  not  like  Paulina.^' 

\ 


I 


i 


28o 


For  a  Woman's  Sake. 


Ja'ovc  (jJii.y  could  sprak,  xho  «l(>(tr  ojx'ned,  and  Paulina 
I.isU-V  iatlifr  stood  bifore  tlu'iii.     (Juy  spraii^'  erect. 

"My  dour  colonel!  Ycni  hcic!  I  thouKtit  .you  had  left 
Kiijiiaiid  a  week  atfo.     X(jtliiiiji:  vvrdii^'.  J  liope^" 

I'or  Robert  Li>le  v.      very  pule,  very  worn,  ai'.       rave. 

"Mrs.    Lislol-Paulina  I"'    (Juy   exelaimed;   *'t'    :'   are   well, 

ile  still  addressed  liim  l»y  the  faiuili.ir  title  that  had  Ixmm 
his  when  tliey  first  met. 

"Paulina  is  ill — very  ill.  J  knew  it  was  your  last  day  in 
London,  and  1  called  to  tell  you.  Your  people  said  I  would 
find  you  Ikm-c." 

Allan  Fane  dropped  his  brush,  and  turned  very  pale,  (iuy 
listened — what  he  felt,  his  dark  face  sliowin/j:  little. 

"Very  ill,"  he  rejjeated  slowly;  "how  lonj?  if" 

"Slie  was  taken  ill  on  the  nij?ht  you  left  us.  It  is  brain 
fever.  She  had  received  a  terrible  shock — the  revelation  of 
file  death  of  a  dear  friend,  and  this,  coupled  with  expctsure 
to  damp  and  previous  ill-health,  broujrht  about  this  result. 
She  lujs  been  delirious  ever  sincf! — she  is  so  still.  What  the 
end  will  be  Heaven  only  knows." 

Fie  walked  away  to  the  window.  Ikm]  silence  fell.  It  whs 
broken  by  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  the  entrance  of  a  servant 
■with  a  card. 

"Inspector  Burnham,  of  the  Metropolitan  Police,"  read  Mr. 
Pane,  aloud.  "Who  the  d#uee  is  Inspector  Burnham,  and 
•what  does  he  want  here  ^" 

Kobert  Lisle  wheeled  round  from  the  window  with  a  star- 
th^l  expression. 

"He  says  his"business  is  with  Mr.  Karlscourt,  sir,"  the  man 
answered,  "and  is  most  pressing." 

Fane  looked  doubtfully  at  his  friend. 

"I  don't  know  what  he  wants,"  Ouy  said,  answerintr  that 
look;  "but  PH  see  him  all  the  same,  with  your  permissif)n, 
Fane." 

Mr.  Burnham  appeared  on  the  instant.  He  bowed  respo<t- 
fully  to  Lisle  and  addressed  Guy. 

"I  believe,"  Inspector  Burnham  bej;an,  politely,  "I  am 
sp<»akinjj:  to  the  Honorable  Ouy  Farlscourt?"  * 

Guy  nodded. 

"F  have  been  informed,  Mr.  Fd.-lscuurt.  that  it  is  your  in- 
tenti<»n  to  sail  to-morrow  for  New  York.     Is  it  true?" 

"It  is  (juite  true."  answered  (Juy.  "May  T  ask,  in  turn, 
how  niy  dei)arture  can  possibly  concern  you  f 

"In  this  way,  Mr.  Earlscourt — that  it  must  be  postponed." 

"Indeed!     And  why?" 

\It.  Burnham  glanced  at  Mr.  Lisle,  who  had  grown  even 


f 


For  a  Woman's  Sake. 


381 


paler  than  upon  I'is  entrouce,'  couglutl  apologoticjilly.  and 
drew  a  stt  n  nearer. 

"^ly  bvisiness  here  is  of  a  very  unpleasant  nature,  but  it 
must  be  done."  Il(>  laid  hi-<  hand  suddenly  juul  heavily  upon 
(Juy's  shoulder.  "Mr.  Karlscourt,  I  arrest  you  on  the  fliar^e 
of  havinj^  caused,  (jr  been  i)arty  to,  the  death  of  Aliif  War- 
ren, on  the  morning  of  Christmas  Eve,  18(52.  Mr.  (Juy  Karls- 
eourt,  sir,  you  must  cojisiiler  yourself  my  prisoner." 

Thero  was  an  exclamation  fron  Allan  Fane — a  dccpt  niii^ 
of  the  gray  i)allor  upoii  Robert  Lisle's  face.  For  (luy.  he 
shook  ofT-the  hand  of  the  detective,  and  stood  lookin^^  iit  iilrii 
— only  (»ne  expression  in  his  eyes;  an  expression  t»t  utter 
amazf. 

"The  death  of  Alice  Warren  I"  he  exclaimed.  "Vou  mean 
to  tell  me  that  Alice  Warren  is  dead!" 

"Alice  Warren  has  been  murdered,"  repeated  Inspector 
Burnham ;  "foully  murdered,  on  the  morninp:  of  Christmas 
Eve,  1SH2." 

".Murdired  I"  h<^  n^peated  the  horrible  word,  starinj^  at  the 
officer  mechanically.     "(Ireat  Heaven  I" 

His  thoughts  flew  to  his  brother,  and  at  the  awful  pos- 
sibility that  su^jicsted  itself  his  dark  face  blanched  to  the 
hue  of  ashes.  Alici'  Warren  Uiurdered.  He  renuMubered  her 
as  he  had  seen  her  last,  wretched  and  alone  in  a  wild  winter 
storm-  he  remembered  the  l<iok  his  brother's  face  had  worn  a 
few  lioui's  later  when  he  had  spoken  of  her.  Who  but  .Monta- 
Won  had  an  interest  in  her  death?  Kvery  trace  of  color 
slowly  faded  from  his  face,  leaving?  him  white  to  the  very 
lips.  Inspector  Tiui'nham  saw  th«'  chang<^ — was  it  the  con- 
sciousness of  ^uilt,  he  W'(>lulered  ?  (luy  slowly  recovered 
himself,  and  spoke: 

"Will  you  tell  me,  ^fr.  TJurnham,"  he  said,  "what  proofn 
you  have  that  Alice  Warren  is  dead  at  all,  and  why  you  hav» 
cause  to  suspect  me?" 

Before  the  detective  could  speak,  Kobert  Lisle  came  hastily 
forward. 

"Allow  me,"  he  said.  "T  was  about  to  tell  you  of  this.  (Iny, 
when  Buridiam  e'ntered.  My  shaie  in  bringing  about  this 
denouriicni  you  must  hear  from  my  own  lips." 

And  then  he  told  the  story  of  the  sailor's  arrival  at  the  cot- 
tage, and  the  confession  made  to  Paulina,  which  had  tinled 
in  her  dangerous  illnt49l»«i  his  and  Duke's  visit  the  next 
day  to  Inspector  Bundiam,  and  of  fheir  discovery  at  Ihittor- 
Fea. 

"Insjxctor  Bnrnham  knew  from  ns,  (luy,  that  you  were  fhi» 
companion  of  Alice  Warren  from  Lincolnshire  to  London; 
that  yon  Mw  her  aftenvard  at  her  lodging;* — facts  W£  Wtievv 


I 


i 


t 


ml 


282 


For  a  Woman *s  Sake. 


yon  woulJ  have  willingly,  freely,  tola  him  yourself,  had  you 
been  prosent.     I  never  dreainetl  though  that " 

(tuy  pranped  his  hand. 

"Say  no  more!  You  did  (luite  right.  My  share  in  this 
unhai>]\v  ^'irl's  story  the  whol(»  world  is  free  to  hc^ir.  iJut 
niurdiTcd  I  (IcKid  TFeavcfn!  It  seems  too  horrible!  1  eannni 
reaii/c  il  !     When  did  you  say?" 

'*(^M  the  nidrninp:  of  Christmas  Eve,  1802,  between  the 
liours  (;f  eij:,dit  and  nine.  Of  (course,  this  prei)Osterous  ehar^^'d 
afiainst  you  will  fall  to  the  Ki*f>""<l  imnuKliately.  I  only 
wond(>r  at  a  man  of  Mr.  Burnham's  astuteness  hrin^in^  it 
forward  at  all.  You  will  prove  an  afihi  at  once.  Carry  your 
mind  haek  to  Christmas  Eve,  six  years  apo — the  very  time, 
was  it  not.  wlien  you  left  Enj^land?  Try  and  reeolleet  whore 
and  with  whom  you  were  on  Chri^mas  Kve,  between  tlie 
hours  of  cijjrht  and  nine." 

Robert  Lisle  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  the  youn^? 
man's  shoulder,  and  looked  into  his  face;  and  the  whole  truth 
burst  upon  (hiy. 

On  Christmas  Eve,  1862,  between  the  hours  of  eig-ht  and 
nine,  his  strange  nnirriage  had  taken  place! 

What  singular  fatality  was  th's!    A  dark-red  flush  rose  up 
over  his  olive  face,  then  faded  slowly  and  entirely  away.     He 
was  very  pale,  but  perfectly  calm,  as  ho  turned  to  the  de 
tective. 

'"Have  you  a  cab,  Mr.  Burnham  ?  I  am  quite  at  your 
service.  An  absurd  mistake  this,  colonel!"  turning:,  with  a 
smile,  to  Lisle,  and  holding  out  his  hand,  "which  will  post- 
p<tne  my  journey  to  New  York.  Farewell,  for  the  present! 
Let  us  Jioi)e  a  few  days  will  set*  this  ridiculous  en'br  right!" 

"Rut,  good  Heaven,  Guy!"  burst  forth  the  artist,  "you  can 
surely  disprove  this  monstrous  charge  at  once!  Make  an 
eifort — -.you  certainly  rememl>er  what  you  were  doing,  and 
with  whom  you  were  on  Cliristmas  p]ve  at  that  hour." 

"1  remember  very  distinctly  what  I  was  doing,  and  with 
wiiom  I  was,''  (iuy  said,  coolly.  "I  do  not  see  fit,  however, 
ju^t  at  present,  to  take  Mr.  Burnham  into  my  confidence.  "T 
am  quite  ready  to  go  with  him  at  any  moment." 

"And  when  the  time  comes — in  a  few  hours,  or  days — you 
will  prove  an  nUhl  and  overthrow  this  preposterous  charged' 
Lisle  demanded,  in  intense  anxiety. 

Guy  looked  at  him  with  a  smile — a  smile  that  seemed  to 
have  some  *trange,  hidden  meaning  in  its  depth. 

"And  it  i  ^nnot  prove  an  alihi — if  I  cannot,  or  will  not, 
^voal  where  and  with  whom  I  was  on  that  dajjr  and  at  that 
^' ir,  will  £0U  believe  me  guilty,  coloudlf 


■-:■.•* 


ft 


had 


'   '"'J    tin's 
>'•.     FJiit 

'•'•'U     tlio 
f    oiiiy 

'^•iiiK  it 
'I'.v  you,. 

.V  tiiJic, 
1"  where 

f'f'll  till. 


If^  truth 
•Jit  and 


I'oso  up 
.V.  He 
he  (lo- 

t   your 
U'ith  a 

I  post- 
vseiit! 
iffht!" 

II  can 
ko  an 
»  and 

vvffh 
'ever, 
'e.     I 

-you 

pre  ?" 

<1  to 

not, 
that 


Semper  Fidelife." 


283 


"Never!"  answered  Robert  Lisle,  firmly.  "But  you  do  not 
mean  this,  Guy  ?" 

"I  mean  it.  This  charg'c  must,  and  will,  doubtless,  fall  to 
the  ground  of  itself:  but,  come  what  may,  it|is  out  of  my 
power  to  prove  an  alibi,  (iood-by,  for  the  present !  The  in- 
quest, no  doubt,  will  set  this  disagreeable  business  all  right.'* 

He  was  gone  before  they  could  speak — Mr.  Btirnham'  <  pris- 
oner. He  sat  back  in  the  carriage,  his  hand  pressed  over 
his  eyes. 

'*Come  what  may,  I  will  keep  my  oath  !" 

He  remembered  the  words  well,  and  to  whom  thev  were 
spoken.  Come  what  might,  the  secret  of  that  Christmas  Kve 
never  could,  never  would  be  revealed 


CHAPTER  VH. 


"semper  fidelis." 


After  the  arrest  of  Guy  Earlscourt  every  effort  was  made 
to  persuade  him  to  tell  where  he'  was  on  the  morning  mI 
Christmas  Eve  between  the  hours  of  eight  and  nine,  but  he 
persisted  in  refusing  to  give  any  information  on  the  subject. 

The  trial  and  all  the  evidence  occupied  four  days,  and  tlie 
verdict  of  the  jury  was  "that  the  remains  found  were  tl:o>e 
of  Alice  Warren,  and  that  she  came  to  her  death  by  a  pistol 
shot  fired  by  the  hand  of  Guy  Earlscourt,  on  the  24th  of  De- 
cember, 1862." 

The  coroner  then  made  out  his  warrant  committing  Guy 
Earlscourt  to  prison  foj  safe  keeping  until  set  free  by  due 
course  of  law. 

Most  faithful  of  all  his  friends  had  been  Robert  Lisle.  He 
called  on  him  every  day.  His  own  private  troubles  were 
lessening.  His  daughter  had  been  pronounced  out  of  dani^cr 
and  wns  now  able  to  sit  up.  But  he  could  not  leave  I'Jig- 
land  while  his  young  friend's  fate  remained  undeci<led.  Ml 
his  efforts  and  persuasions,  however,  to  get  Guy  to  ^tate 
where  he  had  been  on  that  fateful  morning  were  of  no 
avail.  He  was  with  him  the  day  before  the  trial,  and  as  he 
was  about  to  leave,  Guy  asked  hesitatingly,  "Miss  Lisle  con- 
tinues to  improve,  I  trust?'' 

"Not  as  she  should."  answered  her  father  gloomily.  "The 
(loctnrs  speak  of  hidden  trouble,  something  preying  on  l.er 
mind,  and  advi^^e  change  of  air  and  climate;  the  old  stereo- 
typed formula."  • 

"You  should  follow  their  advice,"  said  Guy,  "take  ?^er 
abroad    immediately.      I    hope    she    does    nut    know    of    :::y 


<r, 


rrr 


►•- 


284 


( ( 


Sieniper  Fidelis." 


affair.  I 'or  the  sake  (if  past  times,  wlien  we  were  ^ocA 
friends.  I  should  not  Hke  her  to  know  1  am  even  siispecU'd 
of  tlie  ninrder  of  her  friend.     \'ou  have  not  told  her?" 

"Most  eerl.'unly  not.  And,  strange  to  say,  she  lias  UuuW 
no  inquiries  whatever  on  the  subject  of  her  dead  friend  sinct' 
her  recovery.  She  is  in  a  state  of  apathy  that  seems  to 
blot  out  ad  feehng  and  memory.  She  never  reads,  she  .see- 
no  visitors,  and  we  tell  her  nothing." 

(lUy  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  "I  am  glad  o*  that. 
Take  her  out  of  Hngland  in  ignorance  if  you  can,  and  let 
her  never  know  of  this  if  it  is  in  your  power  to  prevent 
it."  And  after  a  pause:  "I  may  tell  you  now  what  I  wouM 
not  tell  you  out  there  in  Virginia.  I  love  Paulina  with  ;i 
love  that  is  as  devoted  as  it  is  hopeless.  Alice  Warren  wa> 
to  her  as  a  sister,  and  I  cannot  endure  that  she  should 
think  I  was  suspected  of  her  murder.  Promise  me,  <.I  1 
friend,  that  you  will  do  this,  the  greatest,  the  last  favor. 
I  shall  ask  of  you.     Promise." 

"I  promise,"  Lisle  answered,  wringing  the  young  man  > 
hand,  "but  sooner  or  later  she  must  learn  thr-  truth  in  spite 
of  me." 

At  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  the  prisoner  was  taken 
to  the  court.  Mr.  Fane  was  the  first  witness  and  he  had 
very  little  light  to  throw  upon  the  case  one  way  or  another. 
Had  seen  prisoner  in  company  with  Miss  Warren  many 
times.  Both  the  September  of  her  flight  and  other  years 
during  his  summer  visits  to  Montalicn  Priory.  Had  nevor 
thought  Mr.  Earlscourt  a  lover  of  hers;  had  not  known  him 
to  pay  any  more  attention  to  her  than  other  men  did 
stopping  at  the  Priory.  Knew  that  he  went  up  to  London 
one  evening  late  in  September ;  could  not  remember  the 
date.  Heard  next  that  Miss  Warren  was  missing  and  had 
gone  with  him.  Was  surprised  at  the  news.  Did  not  credit 
it.  Believed  Mr.  Earlscourt's  own  statement  that  he  had 
met  her  by  accident.  Knew  that  the  reputation  of  the  pris- 
oner had  not  been  stainless  in  the  past,  but  his  guilt  ha<l 
been  the  common  follies  of  youth,  never  crimes. 

A  profound  sensation  ran  through  the  court  at  the  name 
of  the  next  witness.  It  was  Francis  Baron  Montalien,  the 
prisoner's  brother.  His  face  was  deathly  pale  as  he  was 
sworn,  and  when  he  spoke  his  voice  was  almost  inaudible 
from  agitation,  the  natural  agitation  of  an  upright  man 
seeing  his  only  brother  placed  in  so  dreadful  a  position. 

He  had  known  Miss  \^'lrren  for  many  years,  and  always 
had  the  highest  respect  for  her  personallv  and  for  t'.ie 
whole  family.  Had  visited  the  cottajje  often  in  passini;-. 
and  had  met  his  brother  there.     Had  frequently  jested  hiui 


>f3 


*'Semner  Fideiis 


fri 


r?" 

i"^  made 
ifl  since 
cems   to 

^  that 
and  let 

Wfiiil,! 

witli   a 

n  ua> 

should 

pe,    old 

favor. 

I  spite 

taken 
e  had 
other. 

many 
years 
nevor 
1  hini 
1    did 
)ndo[i 
-   the 
:  had 
red  it 

had 
pris- 

had 

anie 
the 
was 
ih!e 
nan 

avs 
the 

iini 


ja  is^htor,  'Ml    nac 

.icV'    li.;  brothct*  .vcn. 

i/tli,    but    '-lid    no: 

day.   VVn.;  surpriscc 

♦kd  :;ogether.     Had 

I-  several   limes,   biv 


'lloweci    o  stand 
Profounrl  sym 
Iccp    sorrow    wis 
iuitc  ghastly  as  he 
.  ed  convulsively  in 
yes    followed   him, 
lad    istened  to  his 

ius  r:^uilt  had  lingcrec 
'lour. 

ivery   wish 


felf: 
left 
the 
hi: 
dc 


about  hiis  attentions  to  the  bailiff's  pret'> 
never  considered  them  serious.     Knew    m 
to    London    on    the    evening    oi    the 
hear  of  the  girl's  tlight  until  the   nex 
and   shocked   when   informed   they   ha< 
tried   to  speak   with   him  on   the   sub)  ". 
had  always  been  rebuffed. 

Lord  Montalien  was  cross-examine     unci 
down.     His  emotion  had  been  very   '41  eat. 
pathy    for    his    delicate    health    and 
through  the  court.     His   face   wa  . 
the  witness  box,  his  hand  was  pre 
region   of   his   heart.      Guy's   dark 
handsome   face   set   and   stern.      A 
liberate  perjury,  and  if  any  doubt 
in  his  mind  it  was  dispelled  in  Jr.. 

Captain  Cecil  Villiers  came  nc  -.i,  and  \vith 
to  save  his  friend,  did  more  to  l.aiig  !iim  ihan  ill  Ihe  rest. 
He  had  known  Alice  Warren,  an(  .ulmired  her  c;s  every  one 
else  did.  Was  not  aware  that  G  ^v  ^arlscourt  had  been  her 
lover,  and  believed  that  the  neetiiii^  M  the  railway  had  been 
mere  chance,  as  he  had  been  old.  Mr.  Earlscourt  had 
stayed  at  his  lodgings  for  two  c  ys  .)revious  to  his  departure 
from  England.  He  had  been  hsent  .on  duty  n  ly  all  of 
the  Si^d  of  December,  .^^"ound  i.he  .jrisonei  in  his  cham- 
bers upon  his  return  late  it  light.  They  lad^  sat  ogethcr 
smoking  and  talking  for  i  couple  r^  lours  aefore  .Toins;  lo 
bed.  Awakening  next  mcrni'v  iboit  daylight,  ic  lad  rccii 
Gny  in  the  room  adjoining  'rcssin^',  limself  )y  candlelip;hl. 
and  asked  him  what  he  .3  -^ettin?^,  ip  'n  he  niddle  nf  ih  ■ 
night  for.  The  prisoner  ^ad  answered  Jiat  t  ^-as  la'f  pas: 
seven,  that  he  had  a  pressing  engagement  for  :vght.  "There 
is  a  lady  in  the  case,  Villiers,"  he  had  said,  'ano  adic'^, 
brook  of  no  delay."  He  came  back  about  half  past  ninr 
covered  with  snow.  He  said  he  had  been  out  riding,  and 
was  tremendously  hungry.  We  breakfasted  together.  .\t 
a  little  before  eleven  he  left,  and  two  hours  later  I  saw  him 
go  off  on  the  noon  train  for  Southampton. 

While  Captain  Villiers  was  having  all  this  reluctantly  ex- 
torted from  him,  a  messenger  had  made  his  way  to  the  pris- 
oner's counsel,  Mr,  Carson,  and  placed  a  note  in  his  hand.  It 
was  of  evident  importance,  for  the  face  of  the  lawyer  flushed 
up  with  surprise  and  delight  as  he  read  it. 

When  the  case  for  the  prosecution  closed  with  everything 
pointing  to  the  guilt  of  the  prisoner,  Mr.  Carson  rose,  and 
after  a  few  prefatory  remarks  on  the  evidence  given  he 
observed  that,  in  regard  to  the  silence  of -the  prisoner  as  to 


1 


i 


r: 


M 


286 


"Semper  Fidelis." 


his  doings  on  the  moriftnp:  of  that  memorable  Christiua.s 
Kv€,  Mr  Karlscourt  had  admitted  that  there  was  a  lady  in 
the  casa,  and  this  was  the  truth,  but  that  lady  was  not  the 
murdered  j;irl,  as  he  was  prepared  to  show  the  court,  f(jr 
his  client  had  been  from  eight  til^  nine  in  the  morninp;,  the 
time  when  the  murder  was  committed  at  Battersea,  in  com- 
pany of  tiiis  lady  and  her  maid.  Illness  had  prevented  her 
hearing  of  Mr.  iCarlscourt's  arrest  until  yesterday,  when  she 
was  away  in  her  home  in  the  country.  To-day  she  was — 
here ! 

The  door  of  the  witness  box  opened  and  a  lady  stood 
there,  tall,  elegan^,  veiled.  She  lifted  one  gloved  hand  and 
flung  back  her  veil,  and  four  hundred  eager  eyes  fell  and 
fixed  on  the  proudly  beautiful  face  of  l^aulina  Lisle.  She 
was  white  as  marble  as  she  faced  the  bench.  Once  and  once 
only  she  looked  at  the  prisoner.  He  dropped  his  head,  and 
until  he  stood  up  free  he  did  not  raise  it  a.^ain. 

Mr.  Carson  leaned  forward  and  blandly  spoke. 

"Your  name,  madam,  if  you  please?" 

To  the  legal  gentlemen  present  Miss  Lisle  was  we'l  known 
by  reputation,  the  celebrated  London  beauty,  who  only  a 
few  weeks  ago  had  refused  to  marry  t'-e  Marquis  of  Healh- 
erland.  And  the  beautiful  wealthy  heiress  and  belle  stood 
licrc  in  a  London  police  court,  to  vindicate  {he  innocence  of 
a  man  suspected  of  murder !  She  came  and  stepped  forward. 
For  an  instant  the  blood  rose  up  bright  in  her  pale  face. 
Then,  in  that  sweet  vibrating  voice,  that  had  always  been 
one  of  her  chief  charms,  s!ie  spoke: 

"I  am  called  Paulina  Lisle,  but  it  is  not  my  name.  Wait; 
when  you  have  heard  what  I  am  here  to  say  you  will  under- 
stand." 

There  were  scores  present  who  knew  her  well,  but  with 
the  exception  of  two  none  of  them  understood  what  this 
meant.     Even  her  father  stood  confounded. 

Simply  and  without  hesitation  she  told  the  storv  of  her 
marriage  to  Guy  Earlscourt.  It  took  her  upwards  of  an 
hour.  She  grew  faint  and  giddy  before  it  was  done.  She 
reeled  with  the  last  words — she  looked  like  death,  and  as 
permission  was  given  her  to  stand  down  she  had  to  grasp  the 
rails  to  keep  from  falling.  A  second  later  she  was  in  her 
father's  arms — lifeless  and  cold.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  Paulina  had  fainted  entirely  away. 

Her  maid,  Jane  Seaver,  was  called  to  the  stand,  and  gave 
her  evidence  with  a  clearness  and  precision  that  cirried  con- 
viction to  every  hearer.  It  vindicated  Guy  completely.  She 
swore  positively  to  the  time,  at  the  hour  when  the  murder 
had  been  c^^^niittecl — ^Mr.  Earlscourt  had  beea  evcoc  iasUot 


wit  I 

or 
Gl 

A 

call! 
Ste( 


r 


"Semper  Fldelis." 


287 


With  her  and  her  mistress.    No  cross-examinaHon  could  shake 
or  aher  her. 
Guy  was  free ! 

At  this  moment  a  man  nished  into  tlie  courtroom  Piid 
called  out:  "1  (Icmand  to  be  sworn.  My  name  is  Augustus 
Stedman." 

At  sight  of  the  newcomer  a  grayibh  ])allor  had  spread  over 
the  fate  of  Lord  Montalicn.  The  game  was  up!  He  had 
thought  Stedman  safe  in  Australia  for  life,  and  yonder  he 
stood,  speaking  the  words  that  told  his  life  away.  There 
was  a  singing  in  his  ears,  a  nli.^t  before  his  eves,  for  a  mo- 
ment a  sharp,  sudden  pain  in  his  left  side.  He  had  reason 
to  dread  those  swift  keen  pangs.  His  medical  men  looked 
grave  when  he  spoke  of  them,  and  warned  him  to  avoid 
agitation  of  all  kinds.  He  made  no  attempt  whatever  to 
leave  the  court;  a  fascination  he  was  powerless  to  control 
chained  him  to  the  spot  where  he  stood.  His  life  perhaps 
depended  on  his  escape  now,  but  he  stood  there  listening  as 
greedily  as  the  most  unconcerned  spectator. 

Clearly  A-gustus  Stedman  told  the  shameful  story  in  all 
its  details:  the  mock  marriage,  which  turned  out  to  be  a 
real  one,  the  heartless  manner  in  which  the  poor  girl  had 
been  neglected  wlien  her  noble  husband  had  tired  of  her, 
which  he  had  done  in  a  vcrv  short  time,  his  ambition  to  marry 
the  rich  Miss  Lisle,  and  his  reasons  for  wishing  to  get  rid 
of  the  wife  who  had  become  so  distasteful  to  him. 

At  the  close  of  this  recital  Guy  Earlscourt  was  dismisse<l 
and  the  heavy  hand  of  Inspector  Burnham  fell  with  grim 
satisfaction  on  the  shoulder  of  Lord  Montalicn,  who.i;eemcd 
dazed  and  looked  straight  before  him  with  a  sightless  stare. 
They  led  him  from  the  courtroom.  He  went  peacefully. 
Once  he  looked  back.  He  saw  his  brother  surrounded  by 
an  eager  throng  shaking  hands  and  congratulating  him.  Their 
glance  met.  He  turned  away.  He  had  looked  his  last  on 
the  face  of  the  brother  he  had  hated  all  his  life. 

That  night,  alone  in  his  cell,  he  thought  of  Guy  free, 
and  himself  here.  Guy  was  the  husband  of  Paulina,  and  he 
was  the  murderer  of  Alice.  Guy  would  inherit  the  title  and 
estates;  his  children  and  Paulina's  would  grow  up  amid  the 

green  beauty  of  Montalicn;  and  he 

A  vision  of  a  gray  dawn  rose  before  him — of  a  gaping, 
eager  crowd — of  a  scaffold,  ghastly  in  the  chill  light — of  a 
condemned  man,  led  forth  to  die.  He  fell  down  on  the  bed 
with  a  cry  of  anguish  and  despair,  and  lay  still. 

The  next  morning  when  the  jailer  brought  in  his  break- 
fast, he  was  surprised  to  find  his  prisoner  still  asleep.  He 
approached  the  bed,  bent  down,  listened  for  his  breathing, 


"^ 


:i66 


a 


Semper  Fidelis." 


placed  III.  '  .  .  upon  tlu*  region  r,i  \u<,  lic.irt.  felt  the  pul-c, 
and  stood  tipiij^lit.  Lord  .Nloutalicii  was  dead!  I'>icndlc«»> 
and  al«)ne  in  the  (hsnial  |)ri.son  room  the  dark  sf)irit  ol  Aliri' 
Warren's  murderer  liad  j^one  fortli  to  answer  for  \{-> 
crimes. 

Hcforr  the  sun  set  tlial  August  day.  the  ceremony  per- 
formed hy  the  I-ondon  registrar  was  repeated  hv  the  rector 
of  S|)eckliaven  in  Duke  Mason's  Httlc  parlor.  Ten  miiuito> 
after  tlie  hen  diction  had  heen  pronounced  there  stood  Ik- 
I'ore  them  a  .  gai-lookinj;  jjfeiitienian  who  took  (iuy  aside 
and  whispered  in  his  ear  tlie  news  of  his  brother's  death 
It  jjave  him  :•  patij^,  the  thouj^ht  of  how  he  died;  but  therv 
was  Jiof  a  creature  on  earth  who  really  rej^retted  the  dead 
man.  So  in  the  hour  of  her  marriajije  Paulina  was  Ladv 
Montalien.  They  left  l'nj;land  at  once  and  went  abroad  for 
their  honeymoon.  .        '  *  '  - 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ij'sle  went  to  T.vndith  Court,  where  the  first 
happy  monfis  of  their  clandestine  marriage  had  been  spent. 
Sir  \'aue  Charteris  died  so(»n  after,  and  Maud  made  her 
home  with  them,  and  found  tiic  tenderesl  of  fathers  in  Rob- 
ert [.isle.     } 

Winter,  spring,  summer  |)assed,  and  when  September  lav 
bright  on  the  green  glades  and  waving  trees  of  Montalien 
Prior;-.  Lord  and  Lady  Montalien  came  home.  Not  alto- 
gether as  they  went,  for  a  Sw^iss  nurse  accompanies  them, 
and  there  is  a  dark-eyed  baby  in  long  robes,  whom  they  call 
"Robert."  and  who  is  the  heir  of  Montalien. 

And  miles  away,  in  Allan  h'ane's  studio,  there  hangs  a 
picture  of  a  smiling  girlish  face.  Allan  is  famous  and 
wealthy  now.  He  and  Lady  Montalien  meet  often  in  .so- 
ciety and  are  very  sincere  friends.  His  best  wishes  are  for 
her  and  Guy's  happiness,  but  he  never  goes  to  Montalien. 
He  has  no  thought  of  marrying  again.  No  woman  in  this 
world  will  ever  be  to  him  again  quite  what  "Polly"  was  in 
that  lovely  June  of  years  ago.  s. 


THE    KNl). 


i\o.  215  of  The  Select  Li»k.\rv.  entitled  'The  Leighton 
Homestead/'  by  Mary  J.  Holmes,  is  a  story  of  love  and  in- 
trigue, of  plotting  and  scheming,  delightfully  and  cleverly 
told,  and  most  entertaining  to  read. 


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A  REQUEST 


IBC 


Conditions  due  to  the  war  have  made  it  very  difficult 
for  us  to  keep  in  print  all  of  the  books  listed  in  our 
catalogues.  We  still  have  about  fifteen  hundred  dififei- 
ent  titles  that  we  are  in  a  position  to  supply.  These 
represent  the  best  books  in  our  line.  We  could  not  af- 
ford, in  the  circumstances,  to  reprint  any  of  the  less 
popular  works. 

We  aim  to  keep  in  stock  the  works  of  such  authors  as 
Bertha  Clay,  Charles  Garvice,  May  Agnes  Fleming, 
Nicholas  Carter,  Alary  J.  Holmes,  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis, 
Horatio  Alger,  and  the  other  famous  authors  who  are 
represented  in  our  line  by  ten  or  more  titles.  There- 
fore, if  your  dealer  cannot  supply  you  with  exactly  the 
book  you  want,  you  are  almost  sure  to  find  in  his  stock 
another  title  by  the  same  author,  which  you  have  not 
rfad.  • 

It  short,  we  are  asking  you  to  take  what  your  dealer 
can  supply,  rather  than  to  insist  upon  just  what  you 
want.  You  won't  lose  anything  by  such  substitution, 
because  the  books  by  tlie  authors  named  are  very  uni- 
form in  quality. 

In  ordering  Street  &  Smith  novels  by  mail,  it  is  ad- 
visable to  make  a  choice  of  at  least  two  titles  for  each 
book  wanted,  so  as  to  give  us  an  opportunity  to  substi- 
tute for  titles  that  are  now  out  of  print.  v 

STREET  &  SMITH  CORPORATION, 

79-89  Seventh  Avenue,  New  York  City. 


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